Angels Lead Me Home
by Clockwork Mockingbird
Summary: AU. She ran from her castle because of the cowards in it. The men in the small cottage two kingdoms later were the reason she stayed to call it home. Rumbelle.
1. Save Yourself

**A/N:** I really, really, REALLY, should be working on my other stories, but we all know plot bunnies are evil. Fair warning in advance: updates will be sporadic. Writing with a broken wrist isn't fun and I actually have to go to work rather than spend my days writing (BLASPHEMY). Also, in warning, I'm new to writing for this fandom. So no throwing fruit at me (I SEE YOU OVER THERE).

* * *

Belle never was a very good princess. It wasn't that she wasn't lovely or kind, oh no. In fact, it was just the opposite. It was often said that Princess Belle was the most beautiful and most kind princess in all of the lands. A few people grumbled about Snow White's beauty, but no one had seen the poor girl in almost a year.

No, Belle's problem was books. She loved books. While proper princesses spent their days basking in the glow of admirers, or sitting very becomingly in a convenient light beam, Belle would curl up in the library with a book in hand, lost to the world for hours at a time, ignoring her lessons and would be suitors.

She also had a problem with speaking her mind. She didn't flutter her hands or cry or shout when something didn't go her way. No, Belle used words and logic in arguments. She only argued things that needed to be argued, like the fact that she had not been invited to the ball, therefore a dress fitting was not needed. Her best argument to date was "Yes I _can_ spend all day reading- just watch me".

King Maurice didn't know what to do with her. Princess Belle was a woman of her own mind, and while he adored her, it was blindingly clear that no prince or nobleman would marry a woman who could win an argument by being right instead of fluttering her lashes to make him forget they had been arguing in the first place.

Belle had frowned when he told her of the problem.

"I don't see how that's a problem," she said.

Maurice blinked. "You don't?" Didn't she understand? No man wanted to marry her, and if no man wanted to marry her, she would never marry.

"Papa," she sighed, "I don't want to marry anyone. Not yet."

"You're well past marrying age."

Privately, Belle thought that twenty-two seemed a bit young to decide who to spend the rest of her life with, but she kept quiet. Her parents had married when they were only seventeen after all, and she didn't feel like arguing with her father about it again. There were new books in the library to be read, and since it was raining, no one could try and convince her to walk in the garden in her yellow dress.

Belle didn't know why she had to put on a ball gown to walk through the muddy garden, but her governess and tutors all seemed to think it was a good idea. Belle felt sorry for the maids who laundered her clothes.

But her father was determined to fix the problem that wasn't really a problem, and six months after her twenty third name day he took matters into his own hands.

"Belle, this is Sir Gaston."

Belle curtseyed the proper way (not too deep because he was a knight, but deeper than she would to a peasant) and smiled at the handsome man standing before her father's throne. He was very tall. So tall that Belle had to crane her head back to look him in the eye. She was fairly certain she was supposed to gaze up at him, but she'd always thought it rude to not look people in the eye.

"It's nice to meet you," she said.

Gaston bowed to her. "The pleasure is all mine."

Maurice beamed. "Gaston is the best knight in all the kingdoms," he told his daughter. "He's fought in many battles against the ogres."

"I've won back many of the lands," Gaston said proudly. "I have my own platoon of soldiers at my command."

"He's a fine lad."

Belle smiled politely, her interest fading. She knew what her father was doing and she had no interest in a knight any more than she had any interest in a prince.

Maurice had introduced her to several hopeful suitors over the years. It was always the same. He would find a handsome prince or a smart nobleman and leave them to "become acquainted" for a few hours. By the end of the day he would be bursting with hope, only to deflate when Belle would tell him of the young man's departure.

"Love will not happen in one day Papa," she told him.

"You have your whole life to learn to love someone after you're married." He took her hand in his. "Belle, I want you to be taken care of."

"By someone you choose for me."

Maurice smiled. "Who would know better than me?"

_I would_, she thought, but didn't say. Her father didn't let her argue anymore. He said it wasn't very fitting for a princess to argue, and that she shouldn't worry about things, that he would take care of them.

So Gaston was introduced and Belle prepared herself for the inevitable why-don't-you-two-take-a-walk-through-the-gardens-it's-such-a-lovely-day. But this time her father went a different route.

"Belle, you are to marry Gaston in the spring."

Belle forgot about propriety and sputtered at her father. "What?"

"You are now Gaston's betrothed," her father repeated. "It's already been settled."

"But Papa-"

Belle would never forget the look that came over her father's face that day. The loving exasperation faded from his eyes to leave them cool and stern. He lifted his chin to look down at her, and suddenly Belle knew she wasn't talking to her father anymore. She was speaking to the king. And the king would not be disobeyed.

No matter how much Belle pleaded, begged, or argued, her father would not change his mind. Belle and Gaston were to be married and that was final.

Belle tried to like Gaston, she really did. But he never talked to her. He talked _at_ her, mostly about the courageous things he'd done on the battlefield, or how many ogres he'd killed, or how he was named the most handsome man in his village. He talked about that one a lot. He got annoyed when she tried to talk, even angry the one time she attempted to change the subject.

Two months into the engagement, Belle knew she could never love him. She wasn't even sure she could really like him. Maurice remained firm, even when she worked up a few tears.

"Papa, he thinks it's odd that I read," she'd protested.

"Don't read so many books," the king had replied.

"I don't love him!"

The loving look her father used to give her was long gone, replaced with one of angry annoyance, a look usually reserved for the most unsavory of peasants. The princess stood before the king to plead her case, and the king was not having it.

"It doesn't matter," said His Majesty. "It's already done."

Belle refused to walk with Gaston that afternoon, too frustrated at life to be good company. She refused politely, claiming a headache that was only half made up.

And that's when it all changed.

Gaston had a refusal of his own. He didn't argue with her, he simply dragged her outside. He forced her down the path by the arm, his grip tight and pinching to the point that Belle knew she would have a bruise. Princesses weren't supposed to know how to fight, but Belle had bullied the squires into showing her when she was younger. Gaston was much larger, much stronger than her, but she struggled anyways.

She twisted and shouted and demanded to be let go, but he continued on like it was nothing, and the guards looked away when she couldn't break free, even when she pleaded for them to help.

It wasn't proper for a princess to scream very loudly, but Belle had never considered herself very proper. Once it became clear that Gaston had no intention of letting her go (and she very much did not want to think about what could happen should they get completely out of sight), she sucked in a deep breath and let loose a scream that had the birds taking off in terror.

Gaston's grip got tighter the longer she screamed. He shook her so hard that her head snapped back like she was nothing more than a rag doll.

"Shut up!" he roared, suddenly looming. "Just shut up!"

"Let go of me!"

Belle dug her nails into his hand, trying to get him to loosen his grip, but he held tighter still, lifting her off the ground and shaking her even harder. Belle made to scream again, hysteria bubbling to the surface, but Gaston dropped her, one hand releasing her only to draw back and smack her across the face.

If he hadn't been holding her in place, Belle would have stumbled. Stars exploded in front of her. For a minute, she couldn't even think. Gaston's hand came down a second time, this time with such force that Belle surely would have fallen.

"You are never to do that again," her betrothed ordered, nostrils flaring. "You understand me?"

He didn't want for her answer. He yanked her arm to make her move and Belle had to remind herself to put one foot in front of the other, concentrating on placing her feet exactly where they needed to be. She counted the stones that made up the pathway, then the steps into the castle, then the cobbles of the floor, focusing intently on the numbers to distract herself from the pain that spread across her face, the fear that latched onto her heart.

Princesses were allowed to cry, so Belle let the tears fall freely from her eyes.

* * *

Her bag wasn't big enough for more than three books. It could have been, but Belle wasn't going to pack it full of only books, no matter how much the longed to.

Her heart ached at the thought of leaving her beloved books, her true love, behind, but she couldn't afford to be slowed down. And she certainly couldn't stay here. Not in the castle, not on her father's land, not even in the forests surrounding the kingdom. Belle had to get far, far away from everything if she was to have a chance.

Gaston had deposited her at the door to her room, sweeping past the guards that had to know something wasn't right but did nothing, but rather than releasing her, he had thrown her inside and followed her, shutting the door firmly behind him. He'd hit her again when she opened her mouth to speak, and before the blow landed she'd known there was no choice anymore.

The castle was strange at night, larger somehow, and the noises were much louder, but the guards were elsewhere and Belle was very good at sneaking. She gathered her cloak, her largest satchel, and her most comfortable shoes. She didn't have any travel worthy clothes, and made due with her most informal gown, a brown one without a single jewel her governess had ordered her to never wear outside her room.

Her first stop was the library. Partly to decide what to take and partly to calm her shaking. Her face throbbed in earnest, forcing her to keep moving.

She hadn't read every book in the library, but she'd given it her best shot. There were entire shelves of books she'd never even gotten to. And now she never would.

Belle bit her lip, considering the shelves carefully. She'd take her favorite book, the one full of fairytales that had been her mother's. She'd read it hundreds of times over the years, but she had memories of her mother curling up in bed with her, whispering tales of taking frogs until she fell asleep. It was thick and heavy, but she couldn't bare to leave it.

Books were good for more than stories. They held knowledge, and Belle was going to need more than fairytales if she was going to succeed. She was very aware that her head was filled with more princess things like dancing and curtseying and batting eyelashes than useful things that could keep her alive.

Belle carefully selected two more books before sneaking down the servant's hall to the kitchen. The satchel thumped awkwardly against her leg as she moved, but she ignored it, proud that she'd managed to pick two useful books instead of her favorite tales. One promised to teach her how to treat wounds- from small scrapes to broken bones- and the other would tell her the difference between what was dangerous and what was edible.

_You're going to have to be smart about this Belle_, she told herself. _Bravery will only get you so far._

When dawn broke over the kingdom, it found a young woman deep in the forest, heading further and further away from a place that could never be home. Her bag was filled with books and food and other useful things. Her shoes were sturdy and her cloak warm. And as the sun rose higher in the sky, blue eyes turned to glance, not back, but up. The woman did not pause to pray or wonder. She took in the rapidly brightening sky and blinked before throwing up her hood, obscuring her face, and continuing on.

Her steps did not falter. She did not stop.

Princess Belle touched the book of fairytales and wondered if this would be a tale someday too. An improper princess who didn't wait around for fairy godmothers or a prince. A woman who decided not to wait at all, and took fate into her own hands by deciding to save herself.

* * *

It was foolish, selfish, and definitely vain, but Belle couldn't bring herself to cut her hair. Lush chestnut curls that cascaded down her back weren't the easiest thing to deal with while living in the forest, but every time she brought her knife to her locks, she froze, unable to complete the motion.

It wasn't just that Belle loved her hair too much to part from it. She wasn't that silly. No, it was because of her mother. She didn't remember much of her; there were days when she couldn't recall her face, no matter how much she concentrated. But one thing Belle could remember, could see no matter how murky her memory, was her mother's hair: long, perfect brown curls.

The only thing Belle had gotten from her mother, other than sheer stubbornness, was her thick mane of curls. The blue eyes were identical to her father's mother. The wide jaw was entirely her father.

She stared at her rippling reflection in the river, knife poised on a lock beside her ear, ready to cut. But, as she had several times before, Belle lowered the blade.

There was no way to tell if anyone was looking for her. She'd avoided people entirely by trudging through the trees instead of following paths, so maybe she didn't need to change her appearance. The map she'd shoved into her bag was wrinkled and worn and told her nothing more than that she was nearing the edge of her father's kingdom (because it wasn't hers, not anymore).

She had a compass, but only pulled it out to make sure she was still heading north at the end of the day. She didn't really have a destination in mind other than _away_, which would be more than enough if she could make it over the line.

The days were growing colder, fat clouds that promised snow followed her, but she didn't stop. It had been nearly a fortnight, but she didn't want to slow down until she'd crossed the border.

Once she was out of the forest her map would be useless, but she'd always wanted to see the world and she'd heard once that the best way to discover the world is to get lost in it. Belle didn't know if it was a metaphor or literal, but she was going to be lost in a few days either way.

Uncharted territory lay before her, and for a moment Belle was lost in the past, surrounded by people taller than her, talking about strategy and maps and the map took up the whole table but was nearly blank. The corner had three words etched on it, the blankness surrounding them making them seem true even as Belle questioned if there were really dragons to the east.

"Here be dragons," she whispered, her voice quiet after being unused for so long.

She'd long since perfected the art of walking and reading at the same time (and weren't her legs grateful when she subconsciously started dodging table corners), but walking through unfamiliar land was very different than navigating a castle. Belle managed well enough, only barely twisting her ankle in one hole, nearly laughing at herself because twisted ankles had been the very thing she'd been reading about.

Twisted and swollen but not broken. Tender, but not painful. Belle took shelter under a large tree, propping the protesting joint on a log. She'd rest for an hour, she decided. Read one more chapter of the medical book before going on. It would be too dark to read soon anyways.

The border was almost visible through the tree line- rolling hills peeking through the wood and the wind tasted different, but Belle managed to stop herself from bursting out of the forest to go running through open fields. She'd made it this far without being spotted, she wasn't going to ruin it by giving in to childish impulses.

Plus her ankle might not appreciate running just yet.

She wondered if her father was looking for her. Surely he would have sent men to search when he realized she was gone.

_But when did he realize I'd left?_

That was the question. Maurice had pushed Belle away from him and towards Gaston, hardly noticing if she was late for dinner or missed court. In the last weeks, she'd gone entire days without seeing her father at all. But he hadn't seemed to notice. He asked about Gaston, asked what they talked about.

But he never asked about her.

Belle was struck with the realization that her father hadn't concerned himself with her- actually _her_, not her betrothed- in months, no, years. Not since she'd started refusing suitors. He'd never told her why it was so important that she marry, just that she had to do it and do it soon.

So maybe... maybe he wasn't looking for her at all.

Belle tried to focus on the words her eyes were skimming, but her mind refused to quiet. Eventually, even the dark got between her and the pages, and Belle stood, testing her ankle. It held steady, but didn't feel very strong. She walked on anyways, the need to be out of the kingdom she'd called home outweighing everything.

The trees ended abruptly, leaving Belle standing at the top of the world. The sky felt bigger and for a minute she could almost feel the earth spinning, but then she realized it was her, spinning like a mad woman, arms outstretched because there was so much room, and it was bigger than she'd ever imagined and the weight she didn't realize she'd had was gone from her chest and for the first time in months she could breathe again.

She was free. Not safe (because two steps across the border was no distance at all), not yet, but the shackles had been left behind her. And Belle put more strides between her and the forest, between her and the men who'd known nothing about her except that she was odd.

But she was brave too.

She hadn't known that until she'd left, but she knew it now, and she threw it up like a shield, a barrier between her and them.

Bravery follows the brave.

She'd done the brave thing, and bravery had followed.


	2. New Lands

**A/N:** A bad day at work leads to me taking my frustration out on my keyboard and ta-da! New chapter for you guys. I'm glad everyone seems to be liking it so far! I'm always nervous about venturing into a new fandom.

* * *

The only flaw to being in new lands without a map was that Belle had absolutely no idea where to go. She was still heading north, but she'd veered north-west in hopes of finding a village with a market. Her satchel was light now compared to when she'd first started and Belle wasn't sure if that was because she'd gotten used to the weight after over a month or because she was entirely out of food.

Nuts and berries were in abundance in the forest, but grasslands were a different story. She'd been lucky enough to stumble into a cornfield a few days back with a few live stalks, but those were almost gone. The land had to have been a farm once, but the house had crumbled and all the animals had gone.

Belle thanked all of her lucky stars for whatever had made her take the book of plants. If she hadn't, she'd surely be dead of starvation by now. Or poisoned. Berries looked the same to Belle, but there was a big difference between the black ones and the very dark purple ones. The difference being her curled up on the ground, sweating with fever and praying for death, and her up and walking, belly not full, but her hunger stated.

She'd grabbed all the coin she could carry that night, glad that she'd been hording some in her room for years, just in case (though the just in case had always been in case of wars or bandits forcing her to leave quickly to hide, not fiancés with heavy hands and fathers who didn't listen), but without a market her coin was useless.

Belle abruptly realized she had no idea exactly how much money she had and promptly sat down in the tall grass to count it. The stalks rose so high above her that she felt like a child again, small in the large world. They were brown and coarse, but they hid her well even as they reminded her that winter was fast approaching. She was far enough from roads to worry about highwaymen (and hopefully men at all), but she stayed low to count, securing her pouch to her belt when she stood again.

She popped back into view of the world, glancing around at it all. She could see the trail she'd made through the grass- the way she came- and loved the difference between it and the blades in all around her- all the ways she could go.

She made a sharp right for no reason other than she could, and continued walking.

* * *

A month and a fortnight after she'd started walking, Belle successfully braided her hair. It was nearly impossible to get her curls to do anything other than coil, but she'd managed to wrestle them into a plait after a very brief bath in the very cold stream. The wind whispered a promise of snow, cutting through her cloak like it was nothing, and Belle was fast losing hope of finding a village with an inn before it hit.

As she was resigning herself to a cold night on the ground, Belle heard children laughing. She was torn between running towards them and running away and paused to listen to the laughter. She'd not seen people at all since she'd started. What if she ran into soldiers looking for her? What if her father's men were in the village she stopped in? What if _Gaston_ was in that village?

But she was well away from the borders of her father's kingdom. And they were only children.

Children meant people, and though the thought of people frightened her a bit, she knew she needed to press on. People meant a village. A village meant markets. Food. An inn.

A shriek of laughter was her only warning before a gaggle of children burst through the grass before her. The boy at the front slid to a stop in front of her, panting. He gave her a wide smile, tossing thick brown hair out of his eyes.

"Hi!" he said.

Belle eyed them, the smiling boy and the curious others, another boy and a girl with identical blonde locks. They seemed far from dangerous, even if they were holding wooden swords, and Belle remembered how to smile.

"Hello."

The girl ducked behind one of the boys shyly, peeking at Belle with one eye. She didn't look any older than nine. "She's like an angel," she whispered, disappearing completely when Belle turned to grin at her.

"Are you going to the village?" The boy nearest her asked. She guessed him to be about twelve or thirteen, old enough to be in charge, but young enough still to play.

"I am," Belle decided. "Do you know the way?"

He nodded, his hair flopping into his face. "There are trolls all around," he declared, glancing around as if one might pop out at any second.

Belle couldn't stop her grin from growing. "Oh my," she gasped dramatically. "Are there several of them?"

"Oh lots," the other boy gushed.

"Well, I shall need protecting then!" Belle brought a hand to rest on her cheek, trying her best to look worried instead of amused. "Are there any brave-" (not knights, knights aren't brave) "-souls who can escort me safely?"

The oldest boy shook his hair out of his face and brandished his sword. "I'll protect you!"

"Me too!"

Belle painted her best look of relief on her face. "Oh thank you kind sirs." She curtseyed, the formal gesture feeling out of place while wearing rabbit skin boots and a cloak instead of a flowing gown and jewels.

"I am Sir Bae," announced the leader. "Trolls tremble before me!" He turned, swatting his sword at the grass before him. "Come out foul beasts!"

"Beasts!"

The children charged back through the grass, leaving Belle to follow, biting her lip to keep from laughing at the brave sirs and lady who dared escort her through the troll infested grass to the safety of the village.

They were within sight of a cluster of buildings- and Belle was both shocked and delighted to hear the sound of the sea- when Sir Bae stopped suddenly, whipping to face the cluster of bushes to the right of the path.

"What is it?" the girl, who'd shyly said her name was Gretchen, whispered.

"Trolls?" her brother- Belle thought his name was Adam- asked hopefully.

"Maybe," Bae said, carefully creeping up to the silent foliage.

Suddenly the bushes rustled and something burst from them, waving a stick and bellowing. All of the children shrieked, Belle jumped, biting back a scream, and Bae whacked the stick with his sword once the noise died down.

"Papa!"

It wasn't a horrible child eating troll after all, just a man slightly taller than her with a small smile and a crooked leg. He chuckled, ruffling Bae's hair, fluffing it up impossibly. "Can't have troll hunters without trolls," he said softly, his accent different from Belle's, but different from the children's as well. Brown eyes looked up and widened, his mouth quirked awkwardly. "Oh. Hello."

Bae pointed his sword at his father. "We're escorting the princess to the village," he said proudly.

Though he couldn't have known, he'd just added the title with his imagination (because what's a hero without a princess?), Belle's heart began to pound so fiercely she was sure they could hear it. She lost her voice for a moment, barely returning the smile the not-troll had given her.

"Ah... I'm terribly sorry for frightening you. I didn't mean to-"

"Oh, no, it's alright. I have protection." She gestured to Gretchen and Adam, hiding behind her skirt.

Bae was attempting to smooth down his hair and only succeeding it making it stand straight up. "Papa, you make a bad troll," he said.

"I do?"

"Trolls are bigger."

He seemed embarrassed at the observation, but grinned at his son. "I suppose they are, but I'm all done growing." He bowed his head at Belle, not quite meeting her eye. "Apologies. I'm Rumplestiltskin. You've met my son, Baelfire."

"_Sir_ Baelfire," came the indignant correction.

"Son, you insulted the troll. I'll not be calling you sir any time soon."

Belle frantically wracked her brain to come up with something to give him- he'd told her his name, but she couldn't tell them hers, not her real one, and she was a dreadful liar- but her mind seemed to have stalled, declaring to be done with quick thinking for a while, thank you very much.

Trying not to sound panicked, praying that she sounded like she was sure of her own name, Belle smiled. "Angel," she said, voice steady. "I'm Angel."

* * *

Rumplestiltskin and Bae made an interesting pair. While Bae was energetic and loud, his father was quiet, soft spoken, and skittish. He reminded Belle of a wild horse that had once been brought to the stables. It had stood still before her and let her pat its neck, but its eyes had been panicked, muscles trembling as it looked for any chance to run away from her.

Belle had never thought of herself as frightening, but Rumplestiltskin made her feel like the most fearsome of creatures by shying away from her. Gretchen clutched her cloak, done being shy for the moment, and pulled her down the path. Her hands were small and trusting and Belle had no problem following them.

"There's another ship!" she said excitedly. "Let's go see!"

The hill tapered to even ground and Belle's breath was gone from her at the sight just a few paces away. The air was colder, the salt clung to her lips, letting her actually taste her freedom when she breathed.

"The sea..."

She couldn't believe it. Aware that she was gaping like a fish and far from caring, Belle stepped onto the docks, blinking the salt from her eyes, unsure if it was from the water or her tears, and breathed it all in. Ships creaked all around her, the water sloshing against the wood under her feet. The smell of fish was unmistakable, but Belle took deep breaths anyway.

"You've never seen the sea?" a soft voice asked.

"No," she said quietly, eyes drinking in the water that went on forever.

She'd come a lot further than she'd thought. The sea was the border between two other lands. If she were to cross it, she'd be three kingdoms away. Belle almost laughed at herself. She'd passed through two different lands without realizing it.

She'd done it.

She'd gotten away.

Rumplestiltskin stood behind them, watching Bae watching the strange woman. His son turned to give him a confused glance, but kept his own council. Gretchen seemed quite taken with the beauty, a feat in itself. He'd known her her entire life and it still took her a few minutes each day to warm up to him. But there she stood, side by side with a beautiful stranger, nestled into her side like she'd spent her entire life there. Adam had lost interest in the ships, but still stood by his sister, stealing glances at Angel.

Her name suited her, and he found himself grinning when she turned her smile to him.

The wind howled, the waves surged, and Rumplestiltskin sighed, glad he'd gotten up earlier than normal to get his sheep herded. The snow was coming quickly.

"Could you direct me to the inn?" Angel asked, blue eyes on him. She made a picture against the backdrop of the sea, burning into his memory.

His mind fumbled for a moment. "The inn?"

Bae was counting the ships. "It'll be full," he said. "There are lots of ships and no one will want to stay out here in the snow."

Rumplestiltskin dusted the cobwebs off his manners, managing to not sound like too much of an idiot this time around. "I'm afraid our inn is small and usually full when even one ship docks." The angel's face fell, and he couldn't scrape up enough courage to voice his thought.

Bae, ever the savior, spoke up excitedly. "You can stay with us!"

Angel blinked at him. "Oh, I couldn't-"

"It's no trouble," a voice assured her. It took Rumplestiltskin a moment to realize he'd been the one who'd spoken. He cleared his throat, glancing away when she looked at him, staring at her shoulder. "Since the inn is almost always full, nearly everyone in town has extra rooms. You'll find no shortage of beds here."

Her smile was something otherworldly, and if Rumplestiltskin hadn't thought she was an angel before, he certainly thought so now. He let his mouth curve a little, ashamed of himself. What could this beautiful creature possibly want from him, the town cripple? Her clothes were more fine than anything he'd ever seen, if a bit dirty, and her beauty wasn't dimmed in the slightest by the dirt on her face.

Rumplestiltskin was acutely aware of the farmer's smell that always clung to him, of the rags he was dressed in. He'd never felt smaller.

Bae was not as reserved as his father, busy convincing Angel that their spare bed was _much_ better than anything anyone else had. Before Rumplestiltskin knew what was happening, the ethereal being before him was laughing, music pouring from her throat. And then she curtseyed to them like they were important, grateful for the straw mattress they offered.

"We have a fire place and our own tub, and a well, but the rope is old so Papa says I'm not allowed to bring the bucket up because I pull too hard, and the stones are all even, you'll love it Angel-"

They deposited Gretchen and Adam at home as the snow came down, Bae chattering to Angel the whole time, who smiled like she meant it and chattered back. Their cottage wasn't nearly as grand as Bae had painted it, but it was large enough to hold three, and Angel's grateful thanks was heartfelt.

Bae hurried to poke the fire, leaving Rumplestiltskin alone with her.

"We didn't discuss payment," Angel pointed out, clutching her purse.

Rumplestiltskin opened his mouth to name his price when the wind burst through the shutters, bringing a flurry of snow with it. He hobbled over as quickly as he could, barring the shutter back in place.

"How much snow is there?" Bae called.

"Too much," Rumplestiltskin answered, feeling his knee twinge again. It would be a bad snow, he could feel it. He offered Angel a weak smile. "The snow storms here can be a bit rough."

"Lucky I found accommodations then," Angel said with a smile.

If she kept smiling at him like that, he wouldn't have the heart to charge her at all. But they needed the money, so he made himself say "two silvers for a week."

The coin was handed over willingly, and Rumplestiltskin was left to watch in awe as Angel, so out of place with her bright smiles amid all the gray stones and dirt floors, sat down beside his son and offered to help him make dinner.

* * *

Straw sacks were a far cry from feather mattresses, the room was small and boasted a curtain for privacy instead of a door, but Belle had never felt more at ease. She fell asleep quickly, warm and safe, and slept more soundly in a small cottage with wind tearing at the walls than she ever had in her castle.


	3. Whispers and Stares

**A/N:** I am on a caffeine induced roll. I do not know how much longer this roll will last. However, I still have plenty of caffeine.

* * *

For the life of her, Belle couldn't understand people. Oh she liked them well enough, but just as many had found her odd, she found many odd in return. People were different but ultimately the same. They could be cowardly, brave, smart, stupid, dull, witty- it didn't matter. There would always, always, be something about them that she just couldn't grasp. It could be something they did. It could be something they didn't do. It could be the way they acted or spoke.

Duke Lock had been on her father's war council (because they were always at war, even if it wasn't with the ogres), and he had been nice enough, smiling at her when she hid under the table to try and understand what the grown ups were talking about. He coughed to hide any sounds she made to avoid her being discovered. He slipped her books that her father didn't want her reading.

But he rarely bathed. The stench from him was sometimes unbearable. He was often given a wide berth, even from her.

Belle's manners prevented her from asking why he didn't wash himself, but she'd always wondered. And she'd always waited for someone to ask or bring it up, or even dump a bucket of soapy water over his head, but no one ever had. Other than his smell, there had never been anything wrong with him, but because of that Belle could never understand him.

She didn't understand why people were mean. She knew they did it to make themselves feel better, but cruelty was cruelty and sometimes there was no explanation. (Large hands gripping her arm, dragging her away from people who pretended not to see.)

The people in the village did not like Rumplestiltskin.

Belle did not understand this.

Anyone who spent more than a minute with him could see that he was a good man. His leg prevented him from moving too quickly, and he was obviously wary of everyone, but underneath the fear he cloaked himself in beat a very good heart. He had been quick to offer her his spare room- at a rate that Belle later learned was well under what anyone else would have charged- to open his home to a woman he'd just met on the road.

He was up well before sunrise and out long after the sun set. He worked for what he had, whether it be herding sheep or the odd favor around the village. He watched Gretchen and Adam when their mother had too much to do to entertain them all day. He was good with his hands, and Belle supposed he had to be, being a farmer and all, and was always willing to loan them out however he could.

He cooked, he cleaned, he taught what he knew, he was generous with what he had, and he was a fantastic father.

But whenever Belle ventured out into the village, she could always catch the tail end of a whisper about the coward, the cripple, the imp, the pathetic excuse for a man. They quieted whenever she drew near, but Belle would bet her last coin the silence only lasted as long as she was in sight.

And she had no idea what made the entire village hiss unpleasantries about a man they daily asked favors of.

It wasn't her business, she wouldn't be staying forever (though she had stayed two weeks now, the snow was _not_ going away), but it made her heart ache to think of Rumplestiltskin not having a single friend other than his son. Bae was convinced the center of the world was his father. He either didn't hear the whispers or he ignored them.

Belle wasn't as forgiving, and stared hard at the whisperers until they moved on.

She felt she should say something, but arguing had gotten her in more trouble than she'd ever been in her entire life, and she didn't care to be the recipient of so much attention.

Naturally, she was anyways.

People came and went from Elden- as the village was called- but for some reason, people were fascinated with "Angel". She'd tried her hardest to keep her head down, but people noticed her, tried to talk to her, even stared at her. She went to the market with Rumplestiltskin and Bae, she played with Gretchen and Adam and the other village children, she was polite, she smiled, and she kept out of the way.

Apparently that wasn't what people did in Elden, and Belle couldn't step outside without feeling eyes on her.

It wasn't exactly the feeling one wanted when one was, essentially, on the run. But she didn't have the faintest clue how to make them stop staring at her any more than she knew how to make them see Rumplestiltskin for the man he was.

Belle would have marched up to the starers and the whisperers and demanded to know what exactly they were doing, but Angel kept her hood up and eyes averted, and just kept walking.

* * *

The snow had finally stopped falling for the moment, leaving a knee deep pile on the ground. The clouds hovered, promising to drop more at any moment. Belle couldn't get used to the cold. She'd spent most of her life south, where the snow never got deeper than the tops of her feet and usually only lasted a day or two.

Rumplestiltskin, who'd lived even further north than Elden, had smiled and given her extra blankets for her to wrap herself in at night.

Belle spent most of her days exploring with Bae, who was convinced she was a prize worth saving from trolls and dragged her out into the wet snow to "save" her from the beasts (usually played by Adam and, on occasion, Rumplestiltskin). His father had tried to suggest that maybe she wanted the day to herself, but Belle was already being tugged halfway out the door, laughing at the scenario Bae told her she was in this time.

When the snow refused to melt, Belle paid to stay another week. Rumplestiltskin seemed surprised.

"You don't want to try the inn?" he'd asked, holding her coin in an open hand like he expected her to take it back. "Most of the ships have gone now."

"Do you want me to go?" Belle hadn't considered it, but Rumplestiltskin could have grown tired of her. It was odd to have people stay more than a few days (yet another reason people stared), and by all accounts, Belle should have been leaving, or left already.

"Oh, no, no I didn't mean-" Rumplestiltskin fumbled over his words, trying to find the right ones. "It's just... the inn would probably be more comfortable. We don't have much to offer, and what we have is poor quality, I know, and if you wanted to go I'd understand." He wouldn't look her in the eye. "I'm sure you could find a better place to stay than with an old cripple."

Belle knew her face had to be hard, but she couldn't bring herself to soften it. "You," she said slowly, emphasizing each word, "are not an old cripple. You are a good man who's been nothing but kind, and I'll not have you talking about yourself that way, not ever. Do you hear me?" Belle bit her tongue to stop herself from ranting, realizing Angel never would have dared to speak to her landlord that way.

Rumplestiltskin blinked. "Alright," he said in his quiet voice. "Ah... what would you like for dinner?"

The air was turning awkward, but Belle kept her eyes on him. "I'm alright with anything."

His eyes never returned to her. He nodded, stepping around her to put the pot over the fire, the line of his shoulders tense.

Belle nearly threw her hands up in frustration- at herself, at him, at the world, _everything_. Here she was, living under someone's roof, eating their food, sleeping in their bed, and she was giving commands like she was still a princess. It was a wonder he didn't throw her out into the snow.

Feeling a mixture of horrible and sad, Belle slipped into her room, dropping the curtain down so she didn't have to watch Rumplestiltskin not look at her.

* * *

"Papa, what's this word?"

Rumplestiltskin peered over his son's shoulder to squint at the book Bae was holding. He'd never gotten far in school himself, but he'd wanted Bae to learn (and Bae had practically begged for a book on his last name day). Together they stumbled through stories, making up words to replace the ones they didn't know. They learned together, but you couldn't teach what you didn't know, and Rumplestiltskin didn't know much.

"I'm not sure," he admitted. Not for the first time, he felt inadequate, and even though it was just Bae, who didn't care that he couldn't read much more than his own name, he felt embarrassed as well. If only he were smarter, braver, stronger... Bae could have so much more than a tiny cottage and a patch of land if he was better at being a man.

Suddenly there was a warm presence at his back, and Angel's face appeared by his arm. Rumplestiltskin nearly started, but the sight of her so close to him froze his muscles in place, locking him where he stood.

"Circumstance," she said.

Bae turned to her. "What?"

Angel's dainty finger pointed to the page, tapping the long word with a delicate nail. Rumplestiltskin was suddenly aware of his earth stained fingers, his rough hands, chapped and wrinkled, awkwardly large on his small frame.

"Circumstance," Angel repeated. "If you cover up parts of long words and sound it out as you go, it's easier to get them. See how the last half is stance?"

Bae followed her finger, sounding out the letters as he went, his eyes alight with the new knowledge, eagerly devouring the other words Angel helped him pronounce. He was grinning from ear to ear, practically bouncing on the spot with excitement each time he got it right.

Rumplestiltskin watched in amazement as Angel arranged herself on the dirt floor, paying no mind to the smudges it left on her skirts, and slowly, patiently, read to his son.

"This is a big book," she commented after they'd gotten through another page.

"Papa got it for me for my name day," Bae said proudly. He paused, wilting a little. "I can't read good though, and it's hard to get all the words right."

"It's not easy at first, but if you practice, it gets better."

"That's what Papa says, but he can't read good either."

Mortified, Rumplestiltskin shrank back from the pair. Yes, he couldn't read very well, but it was one thing to know that and another to announce it to the guests. Particularly if the guest was educated enough to read large words at a glance. Not every one in Elden could read, but to Rumplestiltskin it was just one more checkmark on his list of faults, another reason he wasn't worthy of being anything more than a farmer.

"Lots of people can't read at all," Angel said, no hint of mocking or laughter in her tone. "I once heard of a man who became king of a great nation during a war, and only once he'd settled on the throne did his advisors realize he couldn't even write his own name."

Despite himself, Rumplestiltskin leaned in to hear, even as he pretended to gather the dishes.

"A king who couldn't read?" Bae sounded astounded.

"Not a word," Angel said. "They spent weeks teaching him to write his name just so he'd be able to sign documents and declarations. He was determined to learn, but his strengths lie in the battlefield, not in the library. He married and had children and did everything a king was supposed to do. He was a good man, but he never read a single book in his entire life."

Bae glanced at the book in his lap, then up at Angel.

"Can you read and write?" he asked.

"Oh yes. I love to read." Angel smiled, and Rumplestiltskin could see the hint of sadness around her mouth before she hid it. "One of my favorite things to do is curl up by a window and spend the whole day reading books."

"Even in the rain?"

"Especially in the rain. Rainy days make the best reading days."

Bae's face scrunched in confusion. "Wouldn't the book get wet?"

Angel looked so sad for a moment that Rumplestiltskin almost spoke up to tell Bae to get ready for bed, that they were done reading for the day, but Angel smiled again. "Not if there was glass in the windows to keep the rain out."

Glass windows? She was from far away. There were no glass windows around here, not even in the inn.

"Teach me to read!"

"Bae," Rumplestiltskin scolded, appalled that his son would give orders to a guest.

Belatedly remembering his manners, Bae sheepishly added a small "please?" and glanced up hopefully.

"Of course," Angel said. She glanced at him. "If it's alright..."

Brown eyes turned to him hopefully, begging without saying a word.

"I... suppose... if- if it's no trouble."

Angel's smile was brilliant. "Why would it be? Now, Bae, come here and show me what you can write."

Eagerly, Bae lay on his stomach, scrawling his name out in the dirt with his finger. He concentrated on each letter, sounding them out with a purpose. Rumplestiltskin almost chuckled, but then realized how sad it was that he had to correct his son while he spelled his own name.

"Baelfire," he said proudly.

"Very good," Angel praised. "What else can you spell?"

Bae considered, then bent his head to write once more. "A..."

Angel caught his eye. He looked away quickly, turning to put the dishes away, face flaming. She'd caught him staring at her, he had no right to stare at her, it was rude and foolish and what would she think of him now, what 'good man' stared at a beautiful woman who offered to teach his son to read?

"L!" Bae crowed. "Angel! I can spell your name too."

Angel laughed and it sounded as sad as her smile had looked. "That's right." He almost turned around, wondering if she looked as sad now. "That's my name."

"I can't spell Papa's name," Bae admitted.

"Well, to be fair it is a long one," he offered, hobbling over. He kept his gaze on Bae. He could feel Angel watching him and wondered if she looked disgusted now. So much for that good man title. Now he'd be the old man who stared at young women.

"It certainly is. Here, let's see..."

Letters were dug in the dirt, the pretty fingers smudging themselves, and Rumplestiltskin could only stare as his name was formed. She wasn't looking at him now and he risked a glance at her face. She was concentrating on the ground, one corner of her bottom lip between her teeth.

"Rumplestiltskin," the beautiful voice said. Her eyes were the bluest of blues, like the sky on a cloudless day. He made himself look away. "Is that right?"

"Yes," he said with some surprise.

Another layer of mystery to the woman sitting on his floor. Well educated, far from home, and obviously from a place far wealthier than he could ever dream. Her beauty was nothing compared to her mind, that wonderful mind that was filled with so much.

And it was another reason he shouldn't watch her, shouldn't stare, but another reason why, for the life of him, he just couldn't keep his eyes away.


	4. Pardon My French

**A/N:** This chapter was a whirlwind of "oh my gosh I am going to kill people if they even **look** at me today". So yeah. Prevent an author from becoming a murderer by reviewing? You'll be saving lives.

* * *

Belle met Clara five days into her fourth week. She'd already paid for a fifth after consulting a map and realizing she was smack dab in the middle of nowhere (and nowhere near anything at all except a town three days away) before venturing into town, determined to buy some more suitable clothes for herself (It was_ still snowing_). Her dress and a small shift to sleep in was all she had to her name, and though her dress blended in with the clothing of Elden's residents, the edges were frayed beyond hope. All princesses knew how to embroider and sew, but not even Belle's needle could patch it up.

More snow had been dumped over Elden, leaving Belle to trudge down the hill with snow in her boots. Glad she wasn't a princess anymore, she grumbled and muttered the entire way, stomping her feet to try to get the cold wetness off.

She wasn't in the most pleasant of moods by the time she made it to the shop Rumplestiltskin had pointed out to her.

"If it's clothes you're looking for, you'll need to speak to Clara," he'd said, eyes on the buildings downhill from them. "She'll get you what you need."

Angel would have nodded and thanked him, but Belle was determined to get her in trouble and spoke before she could stop it. "Why don't you ever look me in the eye?"

He did then, if only out of surprise, but his gaze dropped just as quickly. Exasperated, cold, and tired of the wind cutting through her dress like it wasn't there, Belle made to move on, wondering if she could risk getting to the next town in the snow storm the sky promised.

"Cowards aren't supposed to meet the eye of another."

Belle turned.

He was looking at her at least, but his gaze was on her feet. His knuckles were white against his staff as he spoke. His face was resigned. "I'm sure you've heard the rumors by now. Of the village coward? The man who couldn't keep his wife. The man who ran away from war." He gave a small mock bow, hand waving in the air as if to say 'ta-da'.

"I'm not worthy of looking someone in the eye to speak to them. I'm sure I'm probably not even supposed to speak to anyone really, but sometimes I have to."

"They told you that?" Belle asked, furious.

Rumplestiltskin nodded. "Aye. Daily." He sighed heavily, leaning more on his staff. Belle knew the cold bothered his leg. The snow had to be making it throb horribly. "It's the price I have to pay for being who I am."

Belle had seen criminals receive better treatment than he got. She scowled down at the people walking in town, wishing she could give them all a piece of her mind. Wishing Rumplestiltskin could see what a good man he was. Wishing she could make him see.

"People like to make themselves feel bigger than they are by hurting others to make them feel small," she said, hugging her cloak to bottle in some warmth. "I never understood why."

"...because they're people," he said quietly, and she could feel his gaze on her now but couldn't turn to face him. "And that's all they know how to do."

Belle had no reply to that. She simply walked on, leaving him at the top of the hill alone. She wondered if he realized he watched her the entire way, his gaze warm on her back.

Clara was the mother of Adam and Gretchen, slightly younger than Rumplestiltskin, and took no nonsense. She was a whirlwind of motion even if she was standing still, her hands reaching for something, her eyes darting around, but she smiled at Belle when she walked in.

"Hello," she called. "You must be the princess my son always steals."

_You have no idea_. Belle nodded. "I'm Angel."

"Oh, I know who you are. The kids go on and on about you." Clara chuckled, scooping a pile of cloth off a stool. "Fact is when you arrived, we'd half thought Rumple'd found himself a wife from somewhere."

Belle bristled. "Really," she said flatly.

Clara appeared to be sizing her up. "Mmm," she hummed. "It's slim pickings in this town for the women. We outnumber the men by a lot. There's about three unmarried men in the entire town- one of them being Rumple." Clara shrugged. "We figured he decided to get a mother for Baelfire and went off to get a wife."

"Because no woman here would marry him?" Belle guessed, acid in her tone. She'd heard it all. A single father, who would want him, cripple, coward can't even look at people, how did he even get married once before. Belle wondered what had happened to his wife, but couldn't bring herself to ask about such a private matter.

Clara shook her head. Belle was shocked to realize it was a sad movement and felt the venom leak out of her. "No," she said. "He's a good man, he is. Lord knows I need all the help I can get while my husband's off in the war and he's always willing, but after what happened when he fought... it's a wonder he's stayed in Elden really. The way people treat him is horrible."

The questions burned Belle's tongue, but she stopped herself. She didn't want gossip or second hand rumors. What she had to ask Rumplestiltskin, she'd ask him herself. If he wanted to tell her, fine, and if he didn't, well that was fine too. It was his business after all. He could keep it to himself if he wanted to.

Clara smiled when she said as much.

"I knew I'd like you. Now come on, let's get you something warmer to wear."

Belle left with a dress made of thick material, a warmer cloak, and more determined than ever to get to the bottom of the matter that was Rumplestiltskin.

* * *

"Sill voose... plait? Huh?" Bae sounded so confused that Angel started to laugh.

Rumplestiltskin chuckled by the wash basin. "What?" he asked, pausing the dish washing to turn to the pair by the fire. "Those last two didn't even sound like words."

Bae's brows were drawn together. "They don't even look like words," he admitted, staring hard at the letters, trying to make himself understand them. He'd been doing so well too. Angel had even let him read a book she had, but now he was messing up.

"It's alright," Angel assured him, still laughing. "I forgot this story has some French in it."

"French?"

Angel nodded. "_S'il vous plait_," she said. Rumplestiltskin's heart stuttered at the sound of her voice speaking a different language. "It means if it pleases you. It's old way of saying please. See here, this is _merci_, which means thank you."

"What's this one?"

"_De rien_. It means 'of nothing', but people say it to mean you're welcome."

"Oh." Bae sounded like he understood now, while Rumplestiltskin tried to grasp the fact that on top of reading better than anyone he'd ever met, she could also do it _in another language_.

Who _was_ the beautiful creature sitting on his floor?

"Okay... 'None dear princess-'"

"_Non_," Angel corrected. "Meaning no."

Bae glared at the pages. "How much of this is in French?" he wanted to know.

"Quite a bit I'm afraid." She pointed at something in the book. "This says '_Non, dear princess, vous ne comprenez pas. Je t'aimerai toujours_.' The prince is saying he will always love her."

Bae stared helplessly at the book, then up at Angel. "There's so much French." He was so pitiful that even Rumplestiltskin had to laugh. Bae turned to glare at him, but he couldn't turn off the smile. Angel shared her smile with him, eyes bright. She was much happier than she had been a few days ago. She'd made friends with Clara, and he was grateful she would have someone to talk to. He wasn't much company, and even though they talked every day about nothing, he always got the feeling that she was doing it out of politeness rather than want.

Nobody talked to him unless they had to, and Angel lived with him. She couldn't not talk to him.

Rumplestiltskin wanted to talk to her about everything. She was more kind than anyone he'd ever met, and beyond brilliant. She could play with the children as easily as she could sew and cook. He wondered if she'd ever been a mother. She was a natural at balancing time to play and time to work.

And she did work. Rumplestiltskin had gone to the field to feed the sheep the other day only to discover the hole he'd had in his sleeve had been expertly patched. Clara was the town seamstress, but he'd not seen her in a few days. He came home to find Angel sewing the sleeve back on one of Bae's shirts.

"We knocked it off during a troll battle," she'd admitted, then paused. "Or maybe it was giants. Anyway, I had some stitching of my own to do, and no, you're not allowed to protest."

Rumplestiltskin mimed pinching his lips shut. Angel laughed, nodding once.

"Good. Now give me your cloak. That hem needs taken care of."

"And if I say you don't have to?"

"I'll sew your mouth shut and do it anyways."

Dusty laughter bubbled up from his stomach to get some air. "I thought as much." And he fetched his cloak.

He didn't know what to make of her. He certainly couldn't stop her from doing what she wanted. She taught Bae to read and write. She mended their clothes. She even bullied him into letting her make dinner one night, actually forcing him to sit down, informing him that she knew his leg was hurting and if he didn't take a seat, she'd knock him over and hide his staff.

She could go from gentle to glaring so quickly it made his head spin, but it suited her somehow. (It suited him pretty well too, but he never let that thought linger in his head for more than a second.)

Bae's reading lessons were morphing into French lessons, and Rumplestiltskin protests were dead in his throat before he could even voice them. Angel was genuinely happy to teach Bae what she knew.

She'd even started teaching him.

At night, after Bae was asleep, Angel would help him clean the cottage- and glare whenever he tried to protest, so he'd stopped protesting and just let her- and when they were done, she'd pull out her book of fairytales and help him make sense of the squiggles on the pages. He'd had no choice in the matter (and if he kept protesting she'd keep glaring and the edges of his clothes would be singed by the fire in her eyes).

He was actually progressing quite nicely, much to his surprise.

"You're getting faster," Angel observed one night, tossing a log onto the fire.

"I have a good teacher."

She beamed at the praise. "Teaching can only get you so far. I'm just helping you. You're doing all the rest." She settled across the table from him, all smiles. "You're a very smart man Rumplestiltskin."

She truly believed that. He could see that she did. He just couldn't understand why.

"Why don't you ever believe me?" she asked quietly.

"What?"

"If I tell you you're kind, you shake your head. If I say you're a good man, you look away. If I say you're smart you get that look on your face."

Rumplestiltskin blinked. "What look?"

"That one." Angel pointed at his face.

It was a constant battle between them. After nearly two months of living here, Angel seemed to think it was her duty to inform him of how great she thought he was. He couldn't fathom why, but she didn't stop. She'd even started turning her glares on the villagers when they whispered about him.

They were starting to whisper about her too, and he prayed she hadn't heard them yet (he'd discovered he could glare too).

"I... suppose I just have a hard time believing you can find all those good things in me."

Angel's gaze was unwavering. "There are people who can see past what's on the outside," she told him.

Rumplestiltskin's smile was dry. "My inside's just as bad as my outside."

"I think both are beautiful."

Heat flooded her cheeks, something in his chest took off in flight (could his heart actually beat that fast?), and they both stared at each other, the silence only broken by the cackle of the fire and Bae's tossing around in his bed.

Rumplestiltskin gathered up what small amount of courage he had left in his old bones. "Well, if the most beautiful person I know says it's true, then I am powerless to disagree."

He was pleased beyond belief at the color that bloomed across her face. Her smile was extra dazzling, her eyes brighter than ever. Something sparked up his arm when she touched his hand, fingertips ghosting over his palm. He couldn't catch the impulse and slowly, carefully raised his fingers to touch hers. She didn't move away and he didn't move at all.

And slowly, their fingers curled until their hands were laced together on the table.

Unable to hold her gaze, and sure hope and disbelief was bright in his eyes, Rumplestiltskin glanced back down at the book between them.

"What's this word?" he asked, his voice raw, jabbing a long one at random.

"Lovingly," Angel whispered. "He took her lovingly by the hand."

And he did. And heaven help him, so long as she let him, he would do it again.

* * *

Bae raised his head to look around, heart thrumming because he'd had _that_ dream again (his father coming home alone, he never saw his mother again, the clank of swords, maybe his father didn't come home at all). But just as quickly as he'd sat up, he threw himself back down, rolling over to hide his grin in his pillow. He breathed out a small whisper of _finally_, but the figures at the table were too lost in each other to hear.


	5. Foolish Little Princess

Hands closed around her throat, squeezing, cutting off her air, she couldn't breathe, couldn't scream, couldn't move, and there he was and he was watching, not helping her, not doing anything, he's just _standing_ there and she's _dying_ and she can't do anything help someone help please oh god please someone-

The scream that ripped from her throat had the power to wake the dead. She couldn't move and for a moment she was afraid it had all been real, that she had died, but then the edge of the bed appeared and she fell to the ground, elbow hitting hard, blankets tangled around her legs.

"Angel!"

The curtain was thrown to the side, revealing Rumplestiltskin in his nightshirt, staff in hand, looking more like a savior than a farmer. His eyes found her in the darkness, widening at the sight of her. He crossed the room quickly, kneeling beside her despite his leg.

"Are you alright?" he asked. His voice was shaking but his hands were steady as he gently untangled her.

Belle was shaking so violently she couldn't even stand, could barely support her weight on her arms to keep her off the floor. Speaking was impossible. Her voice had fled in terror.

So had any manner of propriety she once had.

Because when Rumplestiltskin reached to help her stand, something in her snapped. Rather than taking his offered hand, Belle sank her face into his chest, hands fisted in his shirt, and wept. No silent tears, no proper princess crying. It was ugly, the tears fat, and the sobs shaking her right down to her bones. She wept long and bitterly, shedding all the pain, all the fear, all her nightmares right there on the floor of the cottage.

And in Rumplestiltskin's arms.

As tightly as she was clinging to him, he held her just as tightly, steadying her. He didn't push her away or tell her not to cry. Her sobs finally quieted enough for her to make out what he was murmuring into her hair.

"It's alright. You're safe now. Let it all out. I've got you."

She nearly cried that much harder. "I'm sorry," she choked. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

"What for?"

Belle very nearly told him. If she had been looking at him rather than his chest, those brown eyes boring into her soul, she wouldn't have been able to keep it all in. She'd been lying to him since the first day, about her name, her past, everything. She'd lied about it all. And now he was kneeling in the dirt, holding her close, whispering comforts to her while she sobbed. Telling her it was alright. Telling her she was safe.

_I've got you_.

"I can't tell you," she managed. "I'm so sorry, but I can't. I can't."

She waited for the shift, the subtle hint that he was pulling away, but it didn't come. If anything, he pulled her closer, his hands combing nervously through her hair (was he shaking too?).

"You don't have to," he whispered. "Not if you don't want to."

"But I do. I want to tell you everything but if you know..." he had the right to know one thing at least. To be able to decide for himself if she would be allowed to stay under his roof. She didn't want to leave the cottage, didn't want to leave him or Bae, but she knew she couldn't stay. Not forever.

"I ran from something," she admitted. He jerked a little but didn't loosen his grip on her. "I ran a long way. People could be looking for me. Bad people. If they find me, and they find out you helped me... not knowing could be the only thing that would save you."

His breath hitched slightly. Oh god this was it. He was going to tell her to leave, to go, never come back, how dare she put him and his son at risk.

How dare she.

That's exactly what she was doing. Playing school teacher to a boy, caretaker for his father, the scared little princess, hiding behind false names and too afraid to admit she'd been scared, too ashamed to tell anyone of her failure. Every person she'd met, every single person in Elden could be charged with treason because of her. Bae could be shipped to the wars early. Rumplestiltskin could be killed.

They could kill him.

They could kill Rumplestiltskin and Bae and Gretchen and Adam and Clara-

"Can you tell me?" he asked quietly. "What you ran from, can you tell me that?"

"... a person," she whispered back, forcing her hands to relax their grip on him. They opened slowly, her fingers not cooperating. "Two people. Maybe myself as well."

She risked a glance at him, but his eyes were fixed on the wall. The pit in her stomach got bigger, the ache in her heart worse. He couldn't even look at her now. He'd finally, finally started to look her in the eye, to smile at her, to laugh with her, but she'd ruined it.

"They hurt you."

Belle nodded against him, hearing the sound of her hair scratching against his chest. He was so warm. If this was going to be her last chance at this, she was going to stay against him as long as possible. She closed her eyes, trying to commit it all to memory. He was solid and real, his heart beating gently against her cheek, his arms firm against her without caging her, one hand woven into her hair.

He hadn't let go yet.

"You're safe here."

Her eyes flew open to meet his.

"I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

He didn't understand. "I'm putting you in so much danger just by being here." She felt more tears forming, falling as she voiced the truth. "I shouldn't have stayed here. I can't be here. They'll hurt you, Rumplestiltskin. These men are true cowards, who hurt because it's fun, who look away when a woman screams for help. They could take Bae away, they could send him to the battlefield-"

"And those are exactly the kind of people I want away from you as well."

"_What if they kill you?!_" her voice was shrill with panic, almost seeing it for a moment. Rumplestiltskin's warm eyes lifeless, his body not moving, his hands bloody, Bae crying for him to get up, please Papa, get up get up get up-

She jerked away from him, crawling backwards until her back hit the cold stone of the wall. She curled up inside herself, knees to her chest, hands over her face, head on her knees. She felt small, so small and helpless. Stupid. She couldn't hurt them like this.

Stupid stupid stupid stupid.

"Angel..." he sounded so sad, so confused.

Couldn't even tell him her real name. Stupid. Stupid.

Foolish little princess. Stupid little girl.

"Angel..."

It had taken her almost three months with Rumplestiltskin to realize, to see it. Princesses couldn't be happy. Scared little girls who couldn't fight back didn't get happy endings. She couldn't stay here with them. Not another day. Not another minute.

"Angel..."

Stupid.

Stupid.

Stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid.

Warmth on her shoulder, in her hair. Gentle, gentle, gentle fingers touching her. He could break so easily, shatter like the glass windows. His leg could be twisted the other way. He bled just like everyone else. They would hurt him and laugh and the others would look away while she was dragged away.

"Angel."

"I can't have your blood on my hands."

"Breathe."

"It'll be my fault."

"Shhh..."

"I shouldn't have come here. I shouldn't have stayed. I have to go. I need to leave before they find me, you, Bae. I have to leave. I need to go."

The warmth found her face, made her look up at him. He didn't look afraid. He should have been afraid. Or angry. He should have been yelling, pushing her out the door and barring it closed. He should have pushed her away. He should have never let her in his house. He should have never let her near his son, his boy. She never should have stayed.

"Hush, Angel. Shhh..."

"My name isn't Angel," she said, desperate to make him see. She'd lied. She was a danger to him. To Bae. She could get his son killed and he was wiping her tears away, smiling gently at her, so sad, like he understood but he didn't _see_. "It's not Angel. You don't even know my name."

"I know."

Belle's next words died in the air.

"You..."

Rumplestiltskin smiled so gently at her she thought her heart would break. "I know I don't know your real name. It's alright. You'll tell us when you're ready." He was so sure, so safe and warm, and Belle was so lost and scared, foolish little princess, stupid little girl, how dare she how dare she how dare she-

_Shhh_.

They fell asleep with their backs against the wall, arms wound around each other. They were as close as they could get, bodies stiff as they waited for the other to run, but trying to make the other see, make the other understand.

_Stay_, he wanted to beg her.

_Push me away_, she said even as her heart screamed otherwise.

He didn't push.

She pulled.

_Shhh_.

Fear fell away in their slumber, dreams were absent, arms were tight, the stone cold, but they slept in each other's arms.

Warm.

Safe.

_Shhh_.

"Belle," she whispered so quietly the darkness couldn't hear her, awake as the sun rose, as the wind howled. His arms were still around her. He hadn't let go, hadn't pushed her away. He hadn't pulled either. He'd let her come close, let her take those steps. "My name is Belle."

He breathed into her hair, warming her down to her toes. She wasn't surprised or afraid when he whispered back, just as quietly, just as carefully.

"It's nice to meet you, Belle. Welcome home."

* * *

Winter came and finally went. Spring arrived slowly. The earth began to thaw. Belle stopped paying rent. Rumplestiltskin started watching her with a smile. Bae grew an inch a night. They cooked, ate dinner, and read together. It almost felt like they were a family, but no one ever commented on the change, afraid voicing it would break the spell.

Rumplestiltskin sometimes held her hand under the table.

(Bae pretended not to see, hiding his smiles behind his book.)

Belle was never invited to Rumplestiltskin's bed, but he stayed with her on bad nights to chase the nightmares away (his arms around her, but he never touched her, never let himself). He was with the sheep before she woke, but she knew he always stayed the whole night, making sure she was safe in her slumber.

He called her Belle in the dark and she loved the sound of her name on his lips. Wished it was safe to use it during the day, wished everyone could hear him say her name so reverently, so flawlessly.

Clara talked her into opening the school, teaching the kids more than their parents ever could. Slowly the grumbles and whispers about her started dying down.

The day she was supposed to have married the sky split open, flooding Elden with more rain than her kingdom had seen in a year. The children ran home with cloaks over their heads, shrieking, laughing, jumping in the puddles or avoiding them, splashing others, slipping in the mud. Belle barely made it up the hill without drowning, feeling more like a soaked rat than a school teacher (when had she stopped feeling like a princess, or had she ever felt that way at all?).

Rumplestiltskin barely made it home himself, hair plastered to his forehead, water dripping down his face, eyes completely obscured by wet strands.

They took one look at each other a burst out laughing.

"Whatever possessed you to walk up that hill in this rain?" he asked once they were curled by the fire, wrapped in blankets to prevent chill from setting in.

"Where else would I go?" she wanted to know.

"Clara offered a room to Bae for the night in case the storm hit. I'd assumed you would stay as well."

Belle gave him a cheeky grin. "It takes more than a little rain to keep me away from home."

Home.

She was home.

His fingertips were rough from years of work, but so soft against her cheek, her jaw, her ear. Belle could barely breathe (these hands were strong but would never hurt her and she'd never been afraid of them), eyes locked on his. She wasn't aware she'd moved until her hand was on his wrist, fingers closing around him.

"My Belle," he breathed, the distance between them closing. "My beautiful angel."

The kiss landed on her forehead, but it lingered, her heart stampeding, her breath hitching, mouth parted in a gasp, warmth and awareness exploding throughout her body.

_Love will not happen in one day_.

It happened in months, with moments spread over time, with books and shy glances, with smiles, with laughter, with nightmares and dreams, with fireside conversations, with French, with children, with fear, with foolish little princesses who were brave enough to take charge of life and self proclaimed cowards who ran from war.

It happened, and Belle could only hope that someday, maybe, he might feel it too.


	6. Shards of Glass

Rumplestiltskin told her everything. He didn't know what had possessed him to spill all his sins at once, but at least it was all over with now.

Spring had slowly started making an appearance, heavy cloaks being hung up for the season, sleeves being pushed back as people worked. Bae and Adam set off to sleep in the fields, a yearly tradition they loved more than ever because they were finally old enough to go alone.

He'd wanted to call Bae back, to insist that he go with them, but he knew he couldn't hold on forever. The terrified part of his mind reminded him that soon Bae would be shipped off to fight, but he shushed it. His hands shook at the thought, making spinning impossible for the rest of the day.

He wanted so many things. He wanted Bae safe, from the wars, from being hurt, from everything. He wanted his leg to stop hurting for once, wanted to be able to stand on his own two feet. He wanted to be able to stop people from hissing rumors about Belle. And oh, how he wanted Belle. Wanted to love her like she deserved. Wanted to shower her with expensive jewels and fine clothes, wanted to give her somewhere to sleep besides a creaky bed with scratchy blankets.

And, as ashamed of himself as it made him, he _wanted_ her. He wanted her in the way that a husband would want his wife.

Belle as his wife. Rumplestiltskin scoffed at himself. What could he offer her? Belle, who spoke French, who could read and write so well that she was teaching others, who was more kind, more brave, more beautiful, more brilliant than anyone he had ever met. What could she possibly want from him?

He who couldn't walk without help from his staff. He who barely knew how to spell his own name before she came along. He who had never had glass in his windows, never stood his ground, who would rather walk away than lash out against the harsh words spoken about him. He who was too old, too broken, too small to ever be anything to be desired.

And yet.

Belle greeted him with a smile when he got home every night. A wide, unforced smile, like she was actually happy to see him. She accepted him into her bed (fully clothed, thank you), nuzzling closer to sleep. On days the school was closed, she allowed Bae to rescue her from dangerous creatures. She laughed and talked with them both. In the mornings when he would stand to start the day, she would frown, a small noise of distress escaping as he let go of her.

She sought him out even in sleep.

He held her hand. He kissed her forehead. She held him at night. She had a smile reserved just for him.

Rumplestiltskin tried to trample the hope that had been blooming in his chest since winter, but it was larger than a bush fire during the dry season, consuming him inside and out. Oh, how he loved that burn, wanted to let it engulf him. Hoped beyond hope that Belle felt it too.

He plucked a fat daisy from the grass, twirling it between his fingers. He studied the flower as if it could give him all the answers. It was silent, petals blowing in the breeze, but Rumplestiltskin felt a sort of peace. He bent down, gathering a few more of the plain flowers. Belle deserved an armful of roses, a handsome prince, and a castle filled with books.

But maybe, just maybe, she'd accept a handful of daisies, a small cottage, and a sheep farmer.

* * *

Belle took one look at the flowers clutched in his fist, his shy, hopeful expression, and fell in love with him all over again. She'd been given extravagant gifts all her life, ranging from horses to solid gold statues. Carriages. Dozens upon dozens of flowers. Swords. Declarations of love. Declarations of war. Promises that were always broken.

But a small handful of daisies, a timid smile, and the courage to press a kiss to his cheek was the best, most loving gift she'd ever received.

"They're beautiful," she gushed, lovingly arranging the flowers in a small bucket. Her smile was so wide it hurt her cheeks. "Thank you."

Rumplestiltskin seemed pleased with himself and it made him brave. Brave enough to let him cross the room to her, take her hand in his, and press his lips against her skin. Her forehead, her temple, across her cheek to her nose. Belle was on fire, she was sure of it, and she clung to him to stay upright (how could such light pressure make her knees so weak?). She had to remind herself to breathe.

In, out.

Her eyes closed to better feel his lips ghosting over her, lovingly mapping out every detail of her face. He moved down her cheek, pressing hesitantly against the skin behind her ear, then again with more pressure when she couldn't stifle her gasp. She clutched his shoulders, bringing him close, holding him against her.

Distantly, she was aware of his staff clattering to the ground. By the time she had processed that, his hands were cupping her face, his breath fanned across her lips, and then he was kissing her properly, desperately, almost defiantly. Lips soft yet firm against hers, a hand cupping the back of her head, urging her to tilt her face just so, and Belle was fairly certain she felt every nerve ending in her body explode at once.

Nothing she'd ever read or heard about had prepared her for this. She felt weightless and solid at the same time, head spinning even as the fire consumed her and she gave back what he was giving her, her mouth moving against his. Her fingers fisted in his hair, her body pressed against him, she nipped and kissed and sucked and oh god how could she feel so many things at once?

Rumplestiltskin had always been gentle with her, handling her like he was afraid she'd break, so when he pressed her against the wall and _plundered_ her mouth, Belle was absolutely powerless to resist.

Her toes curled.

Rumplestiltskin pulled back.

"Belle, love, I-"

But Belle launched herself at him, knocking him backwards onto the ground, mouth already seeking his. An arm was around her waist, another around her shoulders, hand putting comfortable pressure on her neck. He seemed to be trying to say something, but Belle couldn't pull away from him, not even to breathe.

"Don't you pull away from me, Rumplestiltskin," she said against his mouth. "Don't you dare."

In answer, he pulled her into his lap, biting down on her bottom lip. His hands roamed over her back, down her arms, into her hair to hold her still so he could kiss her properly.

"Never. Not ever. Oh Belle, love, my Belle..."

"Yours," she whispered, gasping when he pressed his lips to her neck. "I'm yours." A long kiss, lingering but no less passionate. "Are you mine?" she asked breathlessly, desperate for an answer that was yes.

"Oh love." His voice was awed, breathless. "I've always been yours."

* * *

He told her about Milah that night. About the pirate who'd taken her, how she'd gone willingly just to get away from him. He told her about the wars, how he'd fought in the first battle, how his leg had been broken, how he'd tried to go to camp for treatment but they'd called him a coward, told him he was running, the battle wasn't done, get back here. Eventually the pain was so great he'd passed out trying to crawl away.

He'd been branded a coward ever since then, the story getting back to his village before he'd even started home. His wife couldn't look at him, disgusted. The widows blamed him for the loss of their husbands. The few men who'd returned to their villages spread the story to those who didn't know.

Belle muttered curses he didn't think she knew even as she blinked away tears.

"Love, I need to breathe," he reminded her.

She loosened her grip. "Those bastards," she growled into his chest. "Soldiers are supposed to get battlefield treatment- it's the law. Someone was supposed to help you seek treatment and if the wound prevented you from fighting you were to stay in camp until you could get sent home. Your captian would have known that and he tried to stop you. You were right to try and get help."

"You know the laws of war?"

She shifted uncomfortably. Rumplestiltskin could feel her drawing back, but she didn't seem to want to let go of him. His leg was unhappy that he was on the floor, but the pain was bearable with Belle nestled against him, so he held her close, feeling braver than he ever thought possible.

"I have to tell you something," she said quietly.

He rested his cheek against her hair, breathing her in. "Alright. Tell me."

The words came out in a rush, tripping over each other to get out, unwilling to stay locked up a single second longer. "I'm princess Belle, the only child of King Maurice of the high council, ruler of the kingdom Sion. I ran from my throne, my betrothed, my father, my subjects. I ran out of my kingdom and through two others and just kept going."

Rumplestiltskin's mind had stalled at 'princess'. He was a statue of a man, completely still against her. Slowly, he pulled back just enough to look down at her. "Princess...?"

A princess sat with him in the dirt. A princess, in his village. In his cottage. In his life. In his lap.

He'd kissed a princess.

He'd _kissed a princess_.

"Please don't look like that," she begged.

He was a spinner, a sheep farmer, a single father, and he'd kissed a princess.

"Like what?" he managed.

"Like you don't deserve me, because it's not true. Don't you believe it for a second, Rumplestiltskin. Don't you dare." She sounded so fierce, so determined that he wondered how he'd missed her nobility before. It all made sense. The way she carried herself with grace and confidence. Her education. The glass windows.

Oh god. He'd kissed a princess.

She'd kissed him back.

"No one... not a single person on this earth deserves you Belle, especially not me." He combed through her curls with his fingers, fingertips lingering on the shell of her ear. "You- you said you were betrothed?"

Something he'd never seen on her before flashed in her eyes before she looked away. He knew that look. He saw it every time he caught his reflection in the stream, in a puddle, in a shard of glass. He saw it when men came to cart the children who were too young off to fight in a war that had being going on for far too long.

Fear.

Belle was afraid.

"I didn't love him. I barely even liked him, but Papa said I had to and I tried, I did. I tried to talk to him but he never listened, he just talked about himself, told me I was odd, that I shouldn't read so much, that I shouldn't concern myself with the wars, that was his job..." She pressed closer to him. "I couldn't marry him. Even if he hadn't hit me, I couldn't-"

"He _hit_ you?"

She nodded against his chest. "The guards looked away. He dragged me past them twice and I was screaming but they didn't come, they just stood there." Belle began to shake, remembering in vivid detail. Remembered counting her steps, remembered being thrown into her chambers. Remembered screaming. Remembered no one coming. No one helping.

Remembered his hands holding her in place. Remembered the sound of her dress tearing, the material hanging off her in tatters. Remembered the tears as she screamed. As she begged. As he told her to shut up, to hold still. As she was powerless to stop him.

Her last secret.

"He forced..." but the tears were too thick and she choked, ashamed, afraid he would cast her away from him. She wasn't pure, wasn't clean. Wasn't fit to marry now, tainted by another man, scarred but there were no marks.

_You have to marry him now_, her father's voice in her head, tired of her, still commanding her like a king and not a father. _No one else will want you_. She wanted to tell it to shut up, wished she had told him to shut up, had called him a coward to his face, but instead she'd run.

"That bastard. _That sick son of a bitch_."

The fury in Rumplestiltskin's voice shocked her into looking up, into meeting his gaze. His brown eyes, always so warm and loving, were lit with a kind of anger she had never seen before, hadn't known he'd possessed. He was tense and shaking, his teeth clenched as he hissed air between them.

"Rumple-"

He was shaking with the effort to keep his tears back. A few leaked out, leaving angry tracks down his face. How _dare_ anyone put their hands on a woman that way. On _Belle_. That oaf, that pathetic excuse for a man should be hanged. Should be beaten within an inch of his life, dragged through the street behind a horse for that unspeakable deed, the worst thing a man could do to a woman.

_And he'd done it to Belle_.

"-kin? Rumplestiltskin?"

With iron will, Rumplestiltskin pushed his anger aside. Not away, not out, because he needed it, was using it to keep the sadness from eating away at him. He'd collapse in a ball of despair if he let himself think about it. He needed to be strong for her, for his Belle. She needed him. He had to let her see she wasn't stained, not in his eyes. That she was still beautiful, still desirable, still everything he'd dreamed about and more and so much better.

So he met her gaze through his tears and gave her the only thing he had left to give her, what he'd only given to one other person, to Baelfire and not to anyone else, not even his wife.

"I love you."


	7. Clever Boy

They all had nightmares. Belle's nightmares frightened her down to her core, made it impossible for her to do more than kiss Rumplestiltskin, hold his hand, to tell him she loved him. She wanted to give him everything, but even if she was ready to, he wouldn't. It's not that he didn't want to- Belle was sure enough of their relationship to know that was as far from the truth as she could get. Rumplestiltskin was just very old fashioned (proper, her princess mind amended). Nothing more than lingering touches and deep kisses would happen unless they were married.

Part of her was glad. She wasn't sure she was ready to lay with a man in that sense just yet. Maybe if Gaston hadn't...

But he had. So she wasn't. So they didn't.

Rumplestiltskin's nightmares varied. Sometimes he dreamt of the war, the sounds of the ogres ringing in his ears, feeling his leg snap beneath him, feeling the beating the other platoons had given him. Sometimes he dreamt of Bae there with him. Sometimes he was killed. Sometimes he was calling him a coward along with everyone else. Those nightmares weren't new. He'd trained himself to recognize the fact that he was dreaming and usually jolted awake shortly after they began.

The newest and most frightening dreams involved Belle.

She was captured, dragged back to her lands where she was beaten, forced to marry, and killed. There were times he dreamt that he'd had the courage to go after her, to try and stop her from being taken but he'd always arrived too late. Her body lay twisted and broken at his feet, eyes glassy, mouth unsmiling. Sometimes her stomach was swollen, boasting a new life that would never be.

He couldn't seem to escape those nightmares, and Rumplestiltskin often woke to Belle gently shaking him, whispering that it was alright, he wasn't fighting the ogres anymore, he was safe. She'd been shocked and saddened to hear that his more vicious nightmares were of her, but he insisted that waking to see her beside him always chased the demons away.

It never occurred to Belle that Bae had nightmares too.

At least, it didn't occur to her until she was woken from a dead sleep by a muffled scream and not so muffled sobbing.

She sat up quickly, nearly tripping on the blankets that had been kicked off her to her feet. She fell out of the room more than walked, her shoulder scraping the stones, but she paid it no mind. Rumplestiltskin snorted himself awake, scrambling for his staff by the time Belle had crossed the cottage to Bae's side.

"Bae?"

Belle touched his shoulder gently, hoping to rouse him enough from his sleep to convince him he was dreaming, but he was already awake, clutching his pillow in an attempt to quiet his cries. Rumplestiltskin emerged from the other room just in time to see his son launch himself at Belle, wrapping his arms around her middle, burrow his face into her shoulder, and begin to sob.

There was no hesitation in her actions. Belle scooted back further on his bed so there was room for both of them, locked her arms around him, and gently began rocking him back and forth.

"It's alright," she said, her voice musical in the quiet. "It's alright now. I've got you."

Though his son was crying, Rumplestiltskin felt something stir deep inside him at the sight of his beloved comforting his child like he was her own, running her fingers across his brow, holding him gently like a mother would. She pressed a kiss to the crown of Bae's head, murmuring nonsense until the teenager quieted.

"There now, see?" Belle tilted her face down to look at him, not pulling away. "No more scary dreams."

Bae snuffled, his body jerking in one shaky breath. "I dreamt you were taken, Angel," he said, clutching the fabric of her nightshirt in his fist. "I dreamt men in black armor came and took you."

Belle exchanged glances with Rumplestiltskin, her brow wrinkled. They'd decided not to tell Bae her story, not yet. Eventually Belle wanted him to know, but not until she was certain she could tell him without endangering him. Rumplestiltskin had agreed to stay quiet, but he hated keeping secrets from Bae and had persuaded her into considering telling him on his name day. The last secret he'd kept from his son had nearly destroyed them when the truth came out. He wasn't going to make that mistake again.

"Where did they take me?" she asked, her voice soft.

"To a ship. You were taken by pirates."

Rumplestiltskin felt his heart lurch (would Milah ever stop hurting his boy?). He wanted to go to his son, his paternal instincts cried for him to gather Bae into his arms, but Belle had him wrapped around her, and he was calming the more he talked. Bae loved Belle and deep in his heart of hearts, Rumplestiltskin wanted him to get used to the thought of Belle as his mother.

"Pirates?"

Bae burrowed closer. "Like Mother was."

Startled understanding passed over Belle's face, heartbreak clear on her features. Rumplestiltskin took two steps before she looked at him, her eyes cautious and wondering. He stopped, studying the pair before him. Belle was considering him, a question in those blue eyes. He kept his face passive, giving her the choice.

"Bae... look at me?" she asked.

Bae sniffed once, lifted his watery gaze to hers.

"I- I haven't been honest with you," she admitted. "I think it's time you knew that."

If they expected him to look confused, he disappointed them. Baelfire was as clever as they come, and he merely blinked up at the woman holding him, glanced at his father, then blew both their minds simultaneously.

"Your name isn't really Angel, is it?"

Any other time, seeing Belle gaping like a fish would have made him laugh. As it was, he could barely stop the smile. Oh, his boy. His clever, smart boy. Rumplestiltskin allowed himself a moment of parental pride before finishing his journey across the room to sit on his son's other side.

"Now how did you know that?" he asked, reaching out to rub Bae's back.

Bae tilted his head to look upside down at him. Belle tightened her grip on him so he wouldn't flop over. "I sometimes hear you calling her Belle at night," he said. "I thought it was a dream at first, but it's true, isn't it?"

Rumplestiltskin glanced at Belle. This was her story, her secret to share.

"Yes," she admitted. Bae righted himself to look at her. "My name isn't Angel- it's Belle."

Bae nodded. "Are you hiding from someone? That's why people in the fairytales change their names." His face lit up, the tear tracks drying in his excitement. "Like princesses. Are you a princess?"

"Bae-"

"Yes." Belle gave a weak and slightly astonished smile. "I am hiding from someone and, yes, I am a princess. Or at least I was before I ran away."

The grin nearly split Bae's face in two. "That is so cool," he declared. A real life princess- an actual fairytale! Here, in his house!

Belle laughed (suddenly it wasn't hard to imagine her life written in the pages of a book, a fairytale lived).

Bae frowned suddenly. "Do I have to call you Angel or Belle?" he asked, glancing between the two adults. "Papa calls you Angel still."

"Yes, but only when we're outside," Rumplestiltskin pointed out. "No one can know her name isn't Angel. It's dangerous."

"Oh. Yeah, cus If someone heard, they could find who you're hiding from and tell them. And you'd be taken." Bae shifted closer to Belle. "But, Papa... I'm not supposed to lie, and her name isn't Angel. Wouldn't that be lying if I didn't call her Belle?"

Well that lesson had bitten him in the arse. Rumplestiltskin wracked his tired mind for an answer to satisfy his son (because, yes, it was a lie, but it was a good lie, but he'd told him there was no such thing as a good lie, oh this would be good, he was too old and it was too late at night to be clever).

When he was younger, Baelfire had gotten into the habit of asking 'why' about everything. The sheep need to be fed. Why? Because they're hungry. Why? Because they need to eat. Why? So they'll be healthy so we can sell their wool. Why? Because we need the money. Why? Because we have to eat too. Why? Because we have to. Why?

And Bae had the same look on his face now as he did when he used to ask why. Being almost fourteen meant nothing. When Bae had questions, he asked them, and you'd better have an answer, and he'd better not find a loophole in that answer or there would be hell to pay in the form of a curious child.

"Think of it this way, you know me as Angel. It's Angel who helped you learn to read and write. It's Angel you saved from giants and trolls. It's Angel who ran in the fields with you. All of those things, I did when you knew me by a different name. It wasn't Belle who played with you, it was Angel."

Bae considered that for a moment. "Okay, but what if someone asks me your name? Is it okay to lie then?"

"Yes. You get a free pass on that one," his father assured him. "But if a stranger asks her name, you tell us, and stay away from them." (Gods they could be looking for Belle, they could take her away-)

Bae nodded, then frowned again. "... do I have call you Belle at home?"

Belle smiled, ruffling his hair until he squirmed away, throwing his arms over his head in defense. Rumplestiltskin reached around and poked him in the side quickly, where he knew Bae was ticklish. The boy squeaked, flailed, and retreated back to Belle.

"Angel or Belle, it doesn't matter," Belle said with a laugh, fingers racing up his side. "Whatever you're comfortable with."

Bae started to giggle, swatting her hands away and rolling off the bed to escape. His head popped up from the floor to consider her and Belle paused, hands poised to tickle him again as soon as he got back within reach.

"Can... can I call you Mom?"

Rumplestiltskin felt his heart break and expand at the same time, a smile forming as quickly as tears welled. Oh, that boy. That beautiful, clever, wonderful boy. How was it he could always ask the things his father could not?

Belle let out a sound that was halfway between a laugh and a cry, swooping down to gather Bae back in her arms, hugging tightly, smiling and crying all at once.

"You can call me whatever you like."

And his son smiled up at her like she was the greatest thing in the world, like she was what he'd been waiting for all along.

"I like Mom," he said.

Belle pressed a kiss to his hair, smiling at Rumplestiltskin when he brushed her tears away. "Okay," she said, leaning against him with their son in her lap and he'd never loved her more. "Mom it is."

And Bae had the pleasure of seeing, for the first time in his life, his parents share a kiss.

* * *

Rumplestiltskin's euphoric high came crashing down the next day at the sight of strange men holding wanted posters, reading off accusations of treason, listing a reward for whoever brought a wayward princess back to her lands. Rumplestiltskin's blood turned to ice, his breath freezing in his lungs.

_Oh no. No_.

But then they hung the poster, and it wasn't Belle, and he was so relieved his knees nearly buckled. Snow White. They were looking for another princess. They'd been looking for this particular one for well over a year now, something to do with her stepmother. They must not have had any luck whatsoever to cross the water to try and find her in Elden.

Rumplestiltskin trudged up the hill thoughtfully, heart still hammering. Was Belle's father looking for her at all? They'd agreed she was far enough away to relax a bit, but not nearly far enough to let her guard down completely. Belle was doubtful Gaston- that son of a goat witch- even cared that she'd vanished, but even she admitted her father might come looking for her.

Should they try and cross the sea? The ogre wars weren't large enough to span across the water yet. Bae would be safe too. Belle would truly be free. They could marry, start over, be a family without hiding from anyone.

It was as Rumplestiltskin began to warm up to the idea (but he would be running again, what would that solve?) that he spotted Belle being dragged around the corner by a hooded figure. Fear and anger (though more anger than fear) rushed over him and he ran as best he could, gripping his staff so that he could use it to bash a head if he needed to.

"-doing here, Belle?" a voice hissed.

"Me?" a voice- Belle- replied. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"...Belle?"

Two beautiful faces turned to him, and Rumplestiltskin completely lost his voice, his mind shutting down before it ran away with a cackle (he was fairly certain it took most of his sanity with it). Belle relaxed at the sight of him, but she was tense, eyes shifting nervously. He knew she was listening for the sound of horses coming near. She'd seen the men too.

"Ah... how many princesses are in this village?" he asked lightly, trying not to stare too much at the woman not two feet from him.

Belle smiled weakly. "A few too many I'm afraid."

A horse nickered down the hill. Rumplestiltskin gathered what wits he had left, ushering the women into the cottage. "Inside before they see you."

The door locked firmly behind them, the windows were barred despite the sunshine, and then Rumplestiltskin turned to the second princess he'd welcomed into his home, bowing slightly. "Princess Snow White."

Snow spared him a smile as she ran to hug Belle. "Oh god I thought you were dead," they said together. They parted in shock. "What?" they asked. (Rumplestiltskin wondered if all princesses spoke in tandem.)

"No one has seen you in almost two years," Belle pointed out. "It's a reasonable leap. Why did you think I was dead?"

Snow looked surprised, then thoughtful. "I guess it makes sense that you don't know. You've been gone from Sion almost a full year, right?"

Shocked glances were exchanged. Had it really been that long? Had it really been that short? It was barely summer now but Belle had come to stay with them just as winter began and she'd left her lands months before that.

"Belle..."

Rumplestiltskin did not like that voice. That was a I-have-something-bad-to-tell-you-this-isn't-going-to-be-pretty voice. Belle's hand found his, squeezing tightly.

"There are posters of me everywhere. I've stopped paying attention to them, but when we passed through the neighboring kingdom we noticed something." Snow twisted her hands together, her face hesitant even as she spoke calmly. "There was another wanted poster beside mine."

Belle began to shake.

"Your father's looking for you," Snow said. "He's offering seven hundred gold pieces to whoever brings you back to Freemarsh."

"Freemarsh?" Rumplestiltskin had never heard of such a land.

Belle had, and she folded against him, shaking so violently her teeth chattered. Rumplestiltskin dropped his staff to hold her upright, ignoring the protest his knee gave. "Breathe, love. Breathe for me."

She was collapsed almost entirely against him, limp and terrified in his arms. "Freemarsh is Gaston's home," she said hysterically. "My father is offering gold to have me sent to Gaston. He still wants me to marry him even after what he did. He expects me to marry that man."

Snow watched a fire light up in the farmer's eyes. It was an intense flame, one that told her everything she needed to know about him. She'd seen that look in James many times. She was sure she'd had it herself. He might have had a lame leg, but she knew personally what that look meant, what it meant he would do for the woman in his arms.

Belle had found love. And while her heart swelled with joy for her friend, a sense of dread wormed its way into her mind.

"Over my dead body," he whispered.

Snow hoped love would be enough. Otherwise, it just might come to that.


	8. Reasons To Fight

Rumplestiltskin stared (could see but was having trouble believing no illusion was at play but surely this was false) at the nobility scattered around his small (it had never seemed small until now) cottage.

Belle, Princess Belle, sat on the hearth, stirring a stew with one hand, eyes and mind elsewhere. He could see her mind working and it set his heart pounding. What was she thinking of? What was she going to do? He didn't want to think about the possibilities and complications and solutions (that way lead to doubts and tears and fears and he was still a coward no matter what Belle thought), but he knew she would. (Would she leave him- leave them?)

Snow White, a name and face he'd seen on posters once a year ago, sat on his floor at Belle's feet. They were talking, comparing notes about the world as they hid from it, as it looked for them. The fairest of them all, she'd been called. Rumplestiltskin knew she was beautiful, but fairest of them _all_ seemed to be a stretch to him. (And no, he was not being biased in the slightest- merely honest.)

And the newest addition, a tall, strapping young man with a sword at his belt, muscles and eyes that boasted the knowledge of that sword, a man that made Snow smile brighter, made Belle laugh knowingly at her friends. Charming, Snow called him. Belle knew him as James, but to Rumplestiltskin, he was another member of the Royal Family.

It was a different Royal Family than Belle's, but it was still impressive enough. Rumplestiltskin had never thought he'd ever _meet_ a single person of royal blood- even nobility was a bit of a stretch- and yet three of them were sprawled all over the place.

He was literally tripping over Royals.

His life had turned very strange in the last year.

Bae, luckily, was still off with Adam in the fields. This trip, however, would not be overnight as Gretchen had demanded to go to see what the fuss was about. Clara had given a stern, motherly look to her son, and Bae liked the idea of Gretchen coming along to play, took her hand like he was her brother too, and in a way Rumplestiltskin supposed he could be. They would all be back later, and Bae would come home to find his house full of people.

The prince had taken pity on Rumplestiltskin and told him to call him James. It was easier, he said, and Rumplestiltskin was offering hospitality to two fugitives (three really, all royalty), so James it was. Princess (but just call her) Snow kept calling him Charming and the only non-royal in the house had to wonder if it was affection or annoyance with which she said it. Eventually he decided it was both.

The newest additions to the house had plans to Take Back The Kingdom. Their stories were filled with adventure, danger, dazzle, sparkle, romance, and everything else Bae demanded of a story for it to be considered a good one. Rumplestiltskin was very glad his son wasn't home yet, lest he decide to go off adventuring with a prince and a princess rather than wait three days for an adventure that would surely get him killed.

Bae's name day was in three days, and then he would be carted off to battle.

Either way, Rumplestiltskin was going to lose his son.

His boy.

"We've come to ask for help to reclaim our lands," Snow was saying.

Belle spooned out the stew. It was hot outside, summer peeking on the horizon, but they ate it despite the heat. Snow was digging into her bowl eagerly, like she hadn't had good, hearty food in a while. James did the same, and for a moment the spinner was able to forget they were soon to be king and queen. They were just hungry people who needed to be fed.

"Help from who?" he couldn't stop himself from asking. Surely they weren't gathering an army. Elden was a village frequented by 'recruiters' (kidnappers) and they got smaller recruits each day. Soon there would be no age limit, and even Gretchen might be forced off to war. The children soon wouldn't be enough, and the parents would be forced as well.

Maybe even Belle.

Rumplestiltskin would lose her too.

His love.

James and Snow glanced uneasily between them. "The Dark One," the prince admitted lowly. Rumplestiltskin's spoon paused halfway to his mouth. Surely they didn't mean-

"Are you_ mad_?" Belle demanded. "Snow, even we grew up being warned about him."

Snow gazed back steadily at her friend (Belle was a princess too, even though she sat beside him, leaning against him, her arm pressing against his, how could he forget that?). "No, not mad. We're desperate, and that's much worse." She sat aside her empty bowl, but didn't ask for more. "I don't want to kill Regina-"

"I do," James muttered, attacking his potatoes.

"-but if it does come to that, I don't even know how, or if she even can be killed."

And for the briefest second, the smallest moment, Rumplestiltskin saw through the mask, past the bravery she'd painted on her beautiful face. Here, on his floor, sat another tired, weary, desperate soul.

Just like him.

"But... The Dark One?"

"We don't know what else to do," James admitted. He dunked his bread in the broth, tearing the bite off with his teeth. Belle had found the possibility of bread dunking most improper table manners- mainly because she always dripped broth on the table and herself.

Rumplestiltskin made himself speak. "How do you plan on it?"

The Royals turned to the spinner. "What part?"

"Any of it. To summon The Dark One is unheard of. He doesn't help the needy or the weak, he _prays_ on them. He'll find your weak spot and exploit it, twist it until you don't know what you're asking for and in the end you won't get what you needed." He was aware they were all staring at him- even Belle- but he kept going, because they'd grown up with fairytales and warnings, stories meant to keep children in line.

They'd never seen him firsthand.

They'd never witnessed him kill parents trying to keep their children safe.

"Even if you did summon him, and did ask for help, what would you ask for? You said you didn't want to kill your stepmother, so you want to... what? Imprison her? Take away her magic, her title? Throw her into another realm?"

Snow looked to James, then back at him, uncertainty in her eyes. "I... I don't know. I just- she has to be stopped."

"Yes, but how?" Belle asked. "Rumplestiltskin's right. You can't ask for something to be done unless you know what to do. You don't give commands to your troops without a plan, do you?"

That seemed to drive the point home and the royals all started talking at once. James looked thoughtful, his mind far off, but Snow looked scared, like she already knew the answer to the question she didn't want to ask. Belle was still speaking calmly, he could see her mouth moving steadily, but his own mind was slowly forming an idea and he sat quietly, mulling it all over.

Rumplestiltskin was not a smart man. He'd never claimed to be. But he could think and speak and read and write, and though he was quiet, his mind was not as dull as others (mainly he) thought it to be. And sometimes, an idea presented itself to him, letting him do with it what he will. There were times he did nothing with the idea, merely let it sit in his head until it left, but occasionally he knew he was given the idea for it to be put to use.

He wasn't going to run this time.

"What if," he started quietly, but with such intense focus that everyone turned to him, "we don't _ask_ The Dark One."

Belle, beautiful, smart, brilliant Belle, followed his line of thought. "Oh," she breathed. "But...would it be right to... could we even-?"

"Command him?" He looked the idea over slowly, carefully, before speaking. "I think we could. The Duke's men are often followed by him, but why? What interest could an all powerful being possibly have in human war? Someone has to be controlling him now, and if we find out how they're doing it-"

"We could take that control from them," Snow finished.

The room grew quiet, the air heavy, and James could only stare at the man sitting before him.

He didn't see a farmer, a cripple, a coward, or a spinner. He saw a man willing do to whatever it took to protect what he had. Who he had. And he had Belle. They all knew it. True Love's Kiss had broken the spell on Snow, had brought her back to him. After everything magic had done to rip her away from him, it had been the purest form of magic to let her stay. He didn't know much about it, but he knew it when he saw it.

He saw it then.

And James looked at Rumplestiltskin, at this man, and saw _him_.

And, one man to another, yet another heart who beat for someone else, another soul that belonged as part of another, Rumplestiltskin looked right back.

Rumplestiltskin was done running.

What good would running do? There would always be another danger, another war, another fight, another darkness that would pose a threat. It wasn't just Baelfire and him anymore. It was his son and his love, and he was going to protect them however he could. If he had to get to The Dark One to do that, then so be it.

If he had to fight, then he would. He would stand his ground, he would face the fears, and he would do whatever it took to keep his family safe.

Because he was absolutely done running away. This time, he had something- two people- to fight for. To come home to. To run _towards_.

"We'll have to get into the Duke's castle," he said. "I have an idea."

* * *

Belle did not like his idea. She pulled him outside and down the hill to inform him of that.

"What choice do we have?" he'd asked.

Tears had welled in those blue eyes then, splashing onto fair cheeks and nearly breaking his heart. "Run," she said. "Let's run, go somewhere, anywhere. We'll take Bae, we'll cross the sea, we'll get _away_."

A year ago, a month ago, a day ago, he would have agreed. He would have collected Bae, they would have packed, they would have snuck aboard a ship, and they would have left Elden far behind them. He wouldn't have hesitated (and wasn't it only yesterday that he'd had the same thoughts?).

But now.

"No, love."

He let himself gather her in his arms, didn't let himself care who was looking, who was staring, because he wasn't ashamed of loving her, not ever. He held her in broad daylight while people walked about and ignored them as they stared. His world consisted of brown curls and softly shaking shoulders.

(And of people who already knew and walked away- they had nothing to say that hadn't already been said.)

"I'm not running."

And oh, how sweet it was to say the words out loud, a promise, an oath, a deal made to the world. To Belle. To himself. He would not break this deal, this vow. He might be afraid, but he didn't cower, so he could not be a coward. His knees would shake, his hands would not be steady, but he would still fight. For the woman in his arms. For the boy in the fields.

For the children who fought trolls.

For the women who'd already lost too much.

Rumplestiltskin would fight for them.

But he'd stand for himself.

"I love you," Belle whispered, and she was looking at him now, and he smiled like he always did when she said that, when she gave a part of herself to him.

"I love you too." To kiss her in the sunlight was like heaven. "My beautiful angel." She was an angel, no matter her name.

The horses breathed fire behind him, the armor clanked, the men appearing so quietly but made themselves known, and Rumplestiltskin turned to face them steadily even as his heart began to pound an unsteady beat against his chest. He stood between them and Belle, staff in hand, ready to defend, ready to fight, because this was not right.

There were five of them and there were no children, just an empty prison cart, and they were smiling too wide for it to be good and _it wasn't right_.

The shortest of the men, only a head taller than Rumplestiltskin, sneered at them.

"Well, well, well."

A crowd gathered and they were curious because these men were new and the children were safe, but something was happening and it was not to them, so they drew closer. Belle was shaking, he could feel it, but he didn't dare turn to her, didn't dare take his eyes off this man before him. This man looked powerful, and he thought himself powerful as well, Rumplestiltskin could tell by the way he carried himself, but he reeked of cowardice, false bravery backed up by a sword at his hip.

"Fancy meeting you here..." and he wasn't looking at Rumplestiltskin at all and that made him even more dangerous, the most dangerous thing Rumplestiltskin had ever seen even before the next words left his lips. "... Princess Belle."

And the coward's sneer slipped into a thin commanding line, his eyes studying Rumplestiltskin then, but dismissed him as nothing, just a simple nuisance that would be taken care of quickly, without a single drop of sweat.

"Take her."

Rumplestiltskin's staff cracked up against a skull before he knew he'd even moved. The biggest oaf, the toughest looking man, dropped like a sack of wool to the ground. The small man frowned, the other three paused, and Rumplestiltskin straightened, staff poised to strike again.

"You will not touch her."

But they did, because they were many and he was one. They had armor and swords and clubs and his staff broke under a boot and he fell just as heavy as they did but it took three blows, blood falling from his nose, forehead, and lip. They were more interested in beating him than getting Belle, but that was okay, because she could get away, she could hide from these men and be safe.

But Belle didn't run either.

She had a knife, and she held it not up to defend herself, but against her own throat, hard enough to have blood trickle down her neck.

"Belle-" but he was coughing up blood, his head was swimming, his body didn't move but she was bleeding he had to help she had to get away-

"You need me alive to get the gold," her voice rang out, a siren song to his ears, a lullaby to his weak limbs. "If you touch any of these people, anyone in this town, I'll cut my throat."

She proved it by pressing harder when the cowards moved closer to her, the blood falling faster, over the blade and to the grass, pooling at her feet.

For every step backwards Belle took, the men were allowed one step forward. They continued like that into the trees, the horses obediently following their masters, the empty (not for long) prison cart rattling behind them.

"No," Rumplestiltskin managed, pushing himself up but it made his head heavy, made the world spin too fast, he couldn't breathe if he sat up. "Belle. Belle! _Belle!_"

Another voice, far, so far away, but he heard it and Belle sobbed as she backed away, her own blade pressed against her throat.

"Mom! Papa!"

And even Rumplestiltskin couldn't run from the darkness as it grabbed him, dragged him down, down, down, down.


	9. Desperate Souls

The Dark One had been around for a very long time. His dagger had been crafted in the heart of a volcano, forged in flames spit directly from hell, welded together with the souls of the dammed and placed in the hands of a soul desperate (stupid) enough to take it.

It had passed through several different hands over the centuries, countless names etched on the blade, faded away, replaced by another to be controlled. The power was great, but the price was greater. To never control your own magic, to have to use it at someone else's will, to hear your own mind whisper thoughts not your own and not be able to do them either.

The Dark One didn't have a purpose anymore. He came when summoned. He obeyed the commands of his master- this time a Duke who thought he was clever, using ultimate power to keep a meaningless war going. He didn't even look for loopholes in the commands anymore. There was no point. Someone else would get the dagger. Someone else would command him. Someone else would use his power for their own reasons.

There were many things wrong with the world, and though he didn't really care, he knew it was sad that none of his masters had ever considered using the power they held to try and make it a better place. Humans were selfish- he'd learned that lesson sometime in his third century. His master at the time had been another person in power- a king if he remembered right but they all blurred together after a while- who wanted to win another war, who used The Dark One's magic to make sure it went the way he thought it should. The war waged on, the man got more powerful, died, the dagger was stolen, and the cycle began again.

It was predictable down to the last detail. He'd trained himself to recognize the feel of someone else's hands on his dagger, a new master to the slave, someone else to use him, another desperate/greedy/selfish soul.

Still, it was a bit of a surprise when rough hands, hands that were used to work, hands that fumbled for a moment while the castle burned, took hold of his dagger, took control of him. Usually soft fat hands held him, hands that wanted to stay soft and fat.

The words were uttered, the command given, and The Dark One obeyed the summons, appearing before his new master.

He was a small man, injured but not weak. His leg was bent, his eyes wary but determined, and he stood his ground. He'd been on the receiving end of a beating- one eye was barely open enough to allow him to see. The Dark One assumed he'd be commanded to heal his new master. That would be simple enough. His face and, oh his ribs too, that had to hurt (_well good feel that pain suffer through it what do you want from me_), but the leg was an old wound. That would take some effort.

This man's (_new master fool do you know what power you hold_) soul was a bit desperate, and a bit afraid, but the fear was not for himself. The soul was filled with color and life. It was large and loving, caring, yet it was... incomplete somehow. What was a man like him doing with a power like his?

The Dark One spared a moment to peer deeper at the soul before him, ignoring the two people standing beside his master (_it would be easy to kill them too easy just a snap of fingers so simple_). He was a father. Some of the fear was for his son, a mere day away from being carted off into the war. But the color of the fear spoke of more, someone else, but the soul was still incomplete and he couldn't see more than that.

"That's..."

"The Dark One."

His master swallowed once but did not flinch (_barely an ounce of fear for himself no self preservation he'll die quickly_). "I command you to find Princess Belle of Sion and bring her here to me quickly and without injuring her in any way. Defend yourself if you have to but do not let any harm come to her."

(_So many words well crafted more clever than he looks smart master doesn't want to kill but willing to funny funny funny_)

It was nothing to cross a kingdom in half a heartbeat, find the aura called Belle chained in a mobile prison, and land. Four men stood around her, hands on their swords, confused, afraid, shaking- they knew who he was- but she merely turned to him and blinked once, then again, harder, like she couldn't believe it.

Her soul was pure. He didn't think there were any pure souls left in the world, but there it shone, barely tainted by the ugliness all around, by what she'd been through (_the one who did it_ _not here him he'd kill no problem coward wouldn't get a woman any other way hope master lets me hurt him_). She was afraid too, but like his master barely any of the fear was for herself. And like his master, her soul was incomplete as well.

He'd forgotten how strange humans could be.

"She's coming with me," he rasped.

The chains broke, the woman fell, and they were back in the clearing with his master and the two others. His master's soul was overtaken by relief and the princess ran to him, arms wrapping around each other, tears fell, and both the souls were complete now.

True Love. How about that.

The Dark One let them have their moment. Despite himself he was curious about these humans (_so much love two true loves makes me sick not enough darkness in them what do they want_), and he waited patiently for his master's next command.

* * *

"Are you alright?!"

"I'm fine, I'm fine, oh your face-"

"-your neck-"

"-did they hurt anyone-"

"-did they hurt you-"

She was safe, in his arms, holding him, she was solid and real and _safe_ and nothing else mattered. Rumplestiltskin kissed her hard just to pull her closer, trying to keep as close to her as possible.

That had been too close.

Too damn close.

Belle was not safe in Elden, not safe anywhere if her father was looking for her. He had to protect her somehow, any way he could. The dagger felt hot in his hand, all that power so close, he held it, had control of it. He could do whatever he wanted with it. He could use it however he pleased. Who was going to stop him? Who would be able to stop him?

He could take it for himself.

The power could be his, not just something for him to order around and he could use it to do so much. They could be rich and powerful and safe and anyone who dared to hurt Bae or Belle could be found and killed or turned into snails, something harmless. He could finally, finally be able to protect those he loved. He had the power, now he just had to take it-

No.

No, he couldn't take the power. He'd do dark, terrible things with that power. Things he wouldn't even think twice about doing. Hadn't it been mere hours ago that he'd been ready to kill the men that took Belle? Kill Gaston, even her father? That had been anger and fear whispering to him, darkness crawling out of the deepest, most desperate corner of his soul. If he took The Dark One's power, if he used it for anything else, that corner would be the only part of his soul. The darkness would consume him. He wouldn't have control over the power, it would have control over him.

He couldn't keep it.

He glanced at Snow and James, considering them, because surely they would be better suited than him, a prince and a princess. But they'd come just to seek out The Dark One, to use his power however they could. Who knows what they'd do with it, even if they meant well at first.

But Belle...

Belle hadn't wanted to do this, hadn't liked the plan. So Rumplestiltskin turned back to her, presented her with the curved knife.

"Here."

Belle looked at the blade as if it might bite her. "I don't want that," she said, pressing her face into his shoulder. His ribs were starting to hurt, his knee hurt so much he couldn't feel his foot, his left eye almost closed entirely it was so swollen, but it didn't matter because Belle was in his arms.

"You're the only one who can take it, love," Rumplestiltskin told her. He held the blade out again. The Dark One was watching them curiously, but made no move to come closer.

Belle shook her head. "I can't-"

"He's right," Snow said. "It has to be you."

"_Why_?"

"Because you're the only one who doesn't want it," James said, sounding resigned (sounded ashamed of himself). "We came looking for The Dark One, all three of us. You're the only one who won't have selfish reasons behind your commands."

Belle looked to be near tears. "I don't want to command anyone."

"And that's exactly why you have to." He pressed a kiss into her hair, sorry that he had to force this on her, but they couldn't do it, it had to be her even if she didn't want it. _Especially_ because she didn't want it.

* * *

She said she didn't want it. But she took it.

They always took it. (_More commands do you know what you have in your hands so much power what do you want from me_)

His newest master held the blade like the danger they all knew it was. She didn't want the power, but she had it. What was she going to do with it- with him?

"Zoso," she called. "Is that your name? Zoso?"

It took him a minute to remember. The letters sounded familiar, the sounds shaped right. He'd tuned into summons of new masters by the feel of a new hand, not the sound of his name. But she said it like it was nothing, not a command but a question (_what is she playing at she wants something what is it what does she want_).

"It is."

She stayed pressed against the man's- what was his name, Rumplestiltskin?- side, one arm wound around his middle. She was holding him up as much as he was holding her. Their souls swirled together, colors blending, weaving in harmony. If they lived their love would be a legendary one (_others will come for the girl so much danger she's in raised by a coward hurt by a man how is she so pure_).

What would her command be then? He couldn't see her killing her father or the man who'd forced himself on her, but she might be the type to wish that they'd never be able to find her. Or perhaps she could command him to make them ill. They could die from sickness and it wouldn't bloody her hands any. She was smart. She could do any number of things to kill without doing any killing herself.

"Can ogres swim?"

The compulsion of the dagger in her hands made him answer before he could ponder the strangeness of this master. "No."

She nodded once in a distracted manner, like she was concentrating. "Make an island," she commanded him. "It is to be large enough for those who will inhabit it, and full of everything they'll need to live comfortably. The island is to be over the deepest part of the furthest ocean. No one will ever be able to find this island and the inhabitants can never leave."

It took concentration, but within a few blinks he bowed his head once. "It is done." (_what is she doing what does she want I could kill the ones trying to hurt her doesn't she know that_)

"Send all of the ogres there. They are to live peacefully and well on the island without any interference."

Seeking out all the beasts took longer than creating the island, but the land shifted to be large enough for all of them and the wards held. They wouldn't be disturbed as long as they didn't leave. And they wouldn't, they couldn't swim and they were far away from any other lands.

(_She holds the power of The Dark One in her hand and she ends a war rather than controlling it strange girl what else will she make me do_)

"Bring all the human soldiers home safely. Heal those wounded from the battles and bury the dead in proper graves."

She turned to consider the other princess and the prince as he carried out her orders. He knew their stories, knew why they'd sought him out. Evil controlled their lands, hurt their subjects and they needed to stop it (_kill the parents free the lands the children start their reign too easy too easy_).

She didn't like giving him commands. He could see the regret swirling in her aura, but she gave smart orders, thought about her words before she spoke. She wouldn't be a bad master to serve. At most he'd be bored of all the peace, but after countless centuries it would be nice to rest.

"Tell Snow and James how to regain control of their kingdoms without any more deaths."

He sought out the Evil Queen and Insane King George, studied their dark souls, the evil they held. The future played out before him, all the possibilities dancing before him. No deaths, she'd said. Not even the deaths of those who deserved to die, but that was not entirely possible (_there is always death little princess don't you know that always weakness too what are you going to do with me_).

"Regina's magic must be taken from her forever. Seek out her mother Cora, take her magic as well. Lock them both away in separate prisons made of enchanted iron forged by the dwarves." Snow looked relieved. She wouldn't have to kill (_weak no killing so weak_) her stepmother. "In every future I see, George will die. He is ill and will pass naturally in a month."

Belle was a kind one, and her next command was anticipated. "Make his passing quick, painless, and final."

(_Kind and pure what kind of master of darkness is this so pure how is this possible_)

His master made sure Rumplestiltskin could stand, could support himself before she stepped close to her slave. Would she ask for no more wars next? That was not possible, humans would always fight, but maybe she would ask.

"Never again use your magic deliberately hurt or kill anyone."

(_What is she doing what is she doing what-_)

"Never break any of the commands I have given you."

(_-doing what is she doing what is she doing what is-_)

And she turned the dagger so the blade was facing her, the hilt pointed towards him, so close, so easy to grab.

"Take your dagger and live a life of your own free will."

She'd surprised him before, but now he was absolutely flabbergasted. Didn't she know what she was giving up? All that power at her fingertips, anything she wanted a command away, and she handed it back to him, let him take it, backed away, it was nothing for her to turn her back on him, on that power-

"You're free."

It was quiet in his head. Finally, wonderfully, blissfully, peacefully, _quiet_.

Rumplestiltskin smiled like he wasn't surprised, one hand on a walking stick, the other out to hold her again. They wanted nothing else from him. They were going to let him do as he pleased. They had found ways to better the world without hurting anyone and then released him. _They were letting him go_.

The magic was his to command. Zoso's. Not his master's. Not The Dark One's. His. He could do whatever he wanted with it.

He gathered a large handful and flung it at them, ignoring the prince drawing his sword- fool, he wasn't going to hurt them- marveling at how it did what _he_ willed it to do, not what his master had wanted, not what The Dark One commanded. He told flesh to knit and it did. He ordered bones to straighten, for pain to flee, for scars to heal.

Zoso gave his magic a command and it obeyed, the land around him changing, his laughter echoing, his soul soaring, and then he was gone.

To do whatever he wanted.

* * *

Snow skidded to a halt, arrow notched in her bow but lowering, staring in disbelief and the perfectly fine couple before her. "He healed you?"

Rumplestiltskin blinked, his vision restored. The swelling had gone down. In fact, if he didn't know any better he'd say his sight had improved. He'd never been able to see this well, but he'd never been able to afford spectacles.

"... he must have," he said, hardly believing it himself.

Not even the oldest of wounds plagued him he realized with a start, shifting his weight, waiting for the familiar flare of pain.

It didn't come.

His leg didn't hurt.

Rumplestiltskin threw his staff to the ground, watched his leg straighten, support itself for the first time in years. He took one hesitant step towards Belle, frozen at the sight of his face smooth again, the bruises and blood gone. He nearly cried in joy at her smooth skin (her neck was healed, not cut, no blood) but settled for running- _running, he could run_- at Belle, picking her up bodily, holding her up in the air and laughing, he was laughing, he could stand, could support himself, could walk, could run, could do anything now.

He lowered Belle to the ground but still held tight, his mouth finding hers in sheer joy, their smiles so wide their lips barely touched.

James exchanged smiles with Snow, watching as Rumplestiltskin walked steadily towards them, gait strong, back straight, his head held high.

"Invite us to the wedding?" he joked.

He should have been embarrassed, shy, maybe even ashamed (because he still wasn't worthy of her but she'd chosen him and he'd do his best to be everything she thought he was), but Rumplestiltskin laughed and shook the Prince's hand.

"Only if you do the same."

It was a long walk back to Elden, the sun rising as they reached the hill, but it felt good to be able to walk it, to take the steps without pain, to hold Belle because he wanted to hold her, not because he needed her help standing. Snow and James had departed, not wanting to cause more trouble should the _other_ princess on the run be discovered (and they knew what they had to do now, knew how to end evil's reign over their lands), but they'd promised to return when they could.

Rumplestiltskin would hold them to the promise. After all, they had a wedding to attend.

Belle ran down the hill to gather Baelfire in her arms, spinning him around, laughing when her feet twisted around each other and they fell. They reached up to pull him down with them, arms tangled around each other until they could have been one person they were so tightly pressed against one another.

Rumplestiltskin held his family close. Because they were a family, they always had been. His son, himself, and next year, next harvest, if she'd have him (surprised at himself, Rumplestiltskin knew she would, no doubts whispered to him), his wife as well.

"We're home Bae," he whispered to his son. "We're home."

* * *

**A/N:** This is soooooo not the direction I expected this chapter to take, but making The Dark One insane was too much fun. I had originally intended on making Rumplestiltskin take the power and having Belle's True Love's Kiss break the curse, but then this happened, so yeah... Also! Not the last chapter. An epilogue will be up within a few days. Which also veered off the direction I wanted it to take, but hey, at least it's being written! I figured you folks deserved a peek at Rumple's happily ever after ;)


	10. Be Still

Belle was ridiculously proud of the gray strands woven throughout her hair, of her rough, calloused hands, and her plain and sturdy clothes, all of which was most unbecoming on a princess but that suited a school teacher just fine.

Her hair was still lush despite the lye she bathed with, the curls impossibly soft and bright (so Rumplestiltskin said, he constantly had his fingers tangled in them). They bounced with every step she took, never seeming to fall out of place or lose their shine no matter the weather. Summers made her tie the thick strands off her neck, but come winter she was always thankful for her thick mane.

She discovered her first flash of silver the day after Baelfire's fifteenth name day. Startled, she'd plucked the hair from her head to examine it closely. It was only one gray, the rest of her hair was still brown, but she grinned all the same. Princesses never got gray hairs, not until they were queens who worried about the kingdom and their husbands and children.

Princesses never got rough hands either, or taught twelve children to read and write day after day (she was going to have to talk to Darren, Clara's husband and Elden's handyman about expanding the school- she was running out of room), but Belle wasn't a princess anymore. She hadn't been in a very long time, and she'd never been so happy.

At twenty seven, Belle had made something of herself. She was a school teacher. A friend. An adopted aunt to Gretchen, Adam, and their new brother Terrance (there had been a population boom after the soldiers had come home). She was a secret the village kept.

Though her father had to know where she was- the men had surely reported back to their king- no one had coming looking for her again. Belle hoped that she would be left to live her life in peace, but she knew it foolish hope. Someday someone would come asking about her. Until then, Elden guarded her closely. She was introduced to strangers as Angel and steered away from anyone in armor.

Rumplestiltskin had been stunned into silence the day he realized he was being protected as well. Though he no longer needed any help walking and could therefore finish all his chores faster than ever, he still found people in his fields day after day. Sometimes they helped him herd the sheep. Sometimes they just kept him company as he worked, eyes watching for anyone that could be trouble. Most of the time the men grumbled good naturedly about their wives, having forgotten what it was like to be married after so long on the battlefields.

Rumplestiltskin had nothing to complain about, and the men had laughed when he'd mentioned it.

"Course not," they'd chuckled. "You found yourself a princess."

"Princess or not, she is of her own mind," he'd pointed out, shooing away a curious lamb who'd wanted to nibble on his cloak. "I'd not have it any other way."

"Smart little thing too," Darren said, grinning. "I can actually read the contracts now before I go off to build things. I make so much coin now. Clara doesn't know what to do with it all."

Noel the blacksmith (who claimed to have lost a hand in battle but that it had grown back just after the ogres mysteriously vanished, apparently Zoso had been very liberal with his healing), tried to wrestle his boot away from a determined ram. "When's the wedding?" he asked. He pulled once again, hard, and went sprawling into the snow. "Ha!" he barked triumphantly, holding up his shoe. "Teach you to steal my stuff you crazy old thing."

Rumplestiltskin chuckled. "Summer," he reminded his friends (and odd as it was, they were his friends and he didn't know what to do with that knowledge). "Belle hates the cold."

"That, and Clara is determined to make her a gown... how did she put it..."

"Fit for a princess?"

"Ah, that's it."

Noel grinned, flashing his missing teeth like a badge of honor. "Well she is a princess, ain't she?" He nudged Rumplestiltskin with an elbow. "What's a princess doing with the likes of you anyhow?"

It was said jokingly (they joked with him, not _at_ him now), and they all cracked up, Rumplestiltskin himself laughing and shoving Noel right back, laughing all the harder when the ram, annoyed that his chew toy was out of reach, butted him on the arse.

"Honestly I don't have a clue, but she says she's here to stay, and arguing with her only causes headaches."

Darren grinned widely. "That's how you know she's a keeper."

* * *

Belle's grey streak grew, and by her twenty eighth year, she had a patch of silver strands as wide as her little finger that started at her temple and went to her jaw.

"I look distinguished," she announced to her husband.

Rumplestiltskin had laughed at her, kissing her soundly. "That you do love. That you do."

Bae, now a man at sixteen, inching towards seventeen, had laughed at them. "Mom, you're getting old."

Belle pretended to be offended. "I'm not old! I'm experienced. Now eat your dinner or I'll take it and never cook you another thing as long as I live," she threatened, reaching for her son's plate. Bae hastily moved it out of her reach, shoving what he could into his mouth, chewing so quickly it was a wonder he didn't choke.

Rumplestiltskin watched them with a smile. Belle was barely eleven years older than Baelfire, and that had caused a few raised eyebrows when they married, but no remarks were ever heard (Rumplestiltskin was optimistic enough to bet very few were even made). Everyone knew, could see that she was a fantastic mother. Besides, as long as they loved each other, made each other happy, it didn't matter how young they were- or weren't in his case.

No matter the bloodline, no matter the age, Belle was Baelfire's mother and he was her son. She was happy as a spinner's wife and no one could argue that.

A knock on the door interrupted the peaceful chaos. Belle paused her assault long enough for Bae to shove the rest of his dinner in his mouth. Rumplestiltskin opened the door on a chuckle, expecting to see Darren or Clara, the only two he knew to come knocking so late (or Gretchen, who was thirteen and unsuccessfully denying a crush on Bae that wasn't entirely unrequited).

"Can I help you?" he asked, surprised, for it was neither.

It was a short, stout man. His face was withdrawn and aged, his eyes far older than his years, bloodshot and sad. He was older than Rumplestiltskin, but looked like he'd lived a hundred lifetimes, making him seem ancient.

There was a crash behind him as Belle stood, knocking into the edge of the table, sending the dishes rattling. She backed away from the door, back against the wall, eyes wide.

Alarmed, Rumplestiltskin turned to her. "What is it love?"

"Belle-"

The word was nearly sobbed out, and Rumplestiltskin knew in an instant. He wasn't quick enough to deny entrance, but he crossed the room quickly and stopped a king in his path.

"You're not welcome here," he growled.

A flash of a spark appeared in King Maurice's eyes, his hands balled into fists, but he wasn't an imposing picture and Rumplestiltskin was far too angry to be afraid. How dare he come here. How dare he invade his home- _Belle's_ home.

"Mind your tongue you commoner. I'm a king."

(A brave man stands before him, ready to fight for his loved ones.)

"A king very far from his borders," Rumplestiltskin pointed out with gritted teeth. "And nary a soul in sight to come to your aid, so if I were you, I'd watch myself."

Tension built and was heightened by a thin, high pitched wail. Belle froze, her face going pale.

"Bae, get your sister and go to Clara's. Now."

No argument, no hesitation. Bae disappeared into the room nearest the fireplace, the one Darren had painstakingly built before winter had hit, appearing with a squirming bundle. He stopped, eyeing the king, the way out behind him.

"Move," he ordered, voice harsh. He knew who this man was, and he would not let him hurt his mother. He would get his sister out, then come back to help his family face this man.

"A child?" Maurice asked, staring at the full head of hair peeking out from the blanket. He knew those curls.

(She had children, one by blood the other by love.)

"Yes," Belle said, answering the question he hadn't asked. Her voice was steady but she clung to her husband, eyes never leaving the man before her.

Maurice licked his lips, eyes darting between his daughter and hers, then to the man at her side. "Let me see her."

"Don't you touch her," Rumplestiltskin snarled. Bae backed up, clutching the baby protectively.

"She's my granddaughter!"

(She's beautiful.)

"She's _my_ sister and you won't lay a hand on her."

Belle spread her hand on Rumplestiltskin's back, taking a careful step forward, facing her father, drawing the attention away from her children. "What do you want?"

Maurice couldn't find his voice for a moment, shocked as Belle stepped further into the light. The differences in her were astounding. Her face wasn't soft anymore. Her curls weren't as big. Her eyes weren't bright and wide, they were older, more calculating. He could see her hands, one tightly clutching the commoner's, the other across her middle, fisting and unfisting. The nails were dirty, the knuckles chapped. She didn't look like a princess.

She looked like the very person he'd tried to keep her from becoming.

(She looked happy.)

"I came to take you home," he told her. Couldn't she see that? Why else would he have come?

Those blue eyes sparked and he was relieved to see that she still argued, still breathed fire, even as he was singed. "I am home."

"You don't belong here. For god's sake Belle, you're a princess and look at you, dirty and tired. You look like a farmer's whore!"

The commoner looked like an angry jungle cat, muscles bunched, ready to spring. "Mind your tongue when you speak to my wife."

(He defended quickly, that love was deep. He was a good husband, better than any king could have chosen.)

The babe wailed again. Belle pulled her husband along to stand with her as she took her daughter, eyes still on him, watching him like he was a dangerous animal. "Hush now, it's alright," she murmured to her. "Quiet now Evangeline, shhh..."

Maurice watched her, scarcely believing it. She seemed so at ease, comforting her child, lulling her back into sleep quickly. She could have had governesses to do that for her. That unsightly gray streak never would have ruined her hair, her hands could have stayed soft. She could still have it all if she returned. They could start again. She could bring her child, have her trained to be a proper princess like her mom never was.

(Her mother was wonderful and strong willed and God willing she'd be just like her.)

"You should go," Belle told him, gently rocking her daughter.

"Belle I came here for you-"

"I've been here almost six years Your Highness. If you'd really wanted to find me you would have been here years ago."

Maurice fumbled. "The men said The Dark One-"

"The Dark One brought me home," Belle said, eyes ablaze. "Here. _This_ is my home, with my husband, my children. Not locked away in some palace, forced into a marriage with a man who would rather hit me than let me speak."

An old, tired argument. Maurice felt comfortable with the script, the words forming without thought. "You had to marry him, Belle."

"Why?" she'd ask, and did. He didn't have to explain. He was her father. He was the king. He knew best. But Belle continued, and she wasn't a princess anymore, wasn't his daughter. She was a mother, a wife, and she was defending herself, fighting for the life she'd found.

(She'd made something of herself here. She was more than any princess could ever hope to be, just look at her.)

"Because of the war? Because of your desire to keep that bloodbath going so you could have more power?"

He must have had a shocked look on his face because Belle nodded like it was answer enough. "You wanted to keep the war going but we were out of warriors. Gaston promised you an army, so you promised him me." She shook her head, passing her daughter to her husband, partly so she could cross her arms, partly to keep him still.

"Even after what he did, what he made me do... you still wanted that army." There were no tears as she met his gaze, only sadness, disappointment. "You stopped being my father then, and I stopped being a princess. We have no ties to each other Your Highness. I had no desire to ever see you again. I even ran through two kingdoms and yet here you stand, in my home. Clearly you need me more than I ever needed you."

(She never needed him, not really.)

Evangeline whimpered, snuggling closer to her father, the only sound in the silence.

"So I ask again, Your Majesty. Why. Are. You. Here."

And he couldn't answer.

He had no army at his command anymore, no council to order, no war to fight. His kingdom had fallen, his people demanding the return of their princess, who'd treated them fairly, ruled them with a gentle, kind air. But she'd run away from him, and Snow White- a queen with a husband and a baby- had offered shelter to anyone fleeing from Sion.

He was a king without a kingdom, a general without an army, and now he was a father without a daughter.

(He was a tired old fool.)

But he could still do one thing for his daughter, for her family that would never be his.

"I'm sorry. Truly, I am." He wasn't exactly sure what he was sorry for, but knew he was sorry that she didn't want to see him, sorry that he couldn't blame her, and sorry, so sorry, for everything he should have done but didn't.

(But he was sorry and it wasn't enough.)

King Maurice left the small cottage alone, tired, and old, but somewhere, deep within the depths of his heart, something rejoiced. Belle was happy and safe. She was happier without him, and that made his soul shatter, but he rode away on his tired horse knowing it had been his own actions to drive her away.

(She's safe and loved.)

Maybe one day he would be allowed to see his granddaughter, that mass of brown curls named Evangeline, but for the first time in a long time (he should have done this years ago), Maurice respected his daughter's wishes, and let her live her life out the way she wanted, with her own decisions to guide her. To live happily. So he left her to do so, left so she could live her life the way he should have let her live in the first place- in peace.

Fin

* * *

**A/N:** *flings papers into the air* FINISHED! Whoo! Thank you to everyone who read, favorited, and especially those who reviewed. Also, did you spot the very very very slight Beauty and The Beast reference? No? I'll tell you. Beast's real name is Adam. Tiny little nod there, but I couldn't resist. Hope you liked it. I know you guys wanted fluff- which is why I made sure the first part was there- but Maurice had to see for himself that Belle was better off without him. And no he has and will never bother her again. Probably. Adios! :D


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